Eternity
by Browncoat777
Summary: The memoirs of Emmeline Morgan and her encounters with the natural and supernatural.
1. 1 Obey Thy Father & Thy Mother

1. OBEY THY FATHER & THY MOTHER

My name is Emmeline Morgan. I was born in England on October the 20th, 1483. I was young once; fervently beautiful. Until one day in 1505 - on the 11th of December to be quite precise - I was murdered. I've survived through the ages and have seen many things; witnessing all the vibrancy and dullness of several lifetimes. I am now near journey's end and wish to tell you my life story before I leave this world and enter the next. It is a story of unspeakable love, unseen betrayal, endless loss, unyielding loyalty, the certainty of trust, and the hardship of forgiveness. I want someone to know I existed. I want to be remembered. And when you, dear one, ascend to the gates of Heaven - the likes of which I shall never see - you can tell them. I was here... for a hairsbreadth in eternity.

My childhood was a happy one; I was a gay young girl with a vigorous spirit and a knack for adventure. The house I grew up in was two stories high with a large stable that ran along its eastern side. We were fortunate. It wasn't a house at all really, it was an inn. It lied just off the main road at the edge of a small patch of woods. Father had won it off the former owner in a night of risky gambling and many drinks. Though it was an inn, Father insisted it shouldn't be used as such. Our nicely windowed and thatched homestead was to be used as a farm house. Nestled in the middle of farmlands, it only made good sense. No one would travel this way who wasn't a farmer, and the farmers that _were_ this way did not require room and board.

My father, a tall, stern man was a blacksmith. He'd converted half of the twelve gate stable into his workshop. Farmers from all around were always in constant need of horseshoes, tools, or the occasional horse bit. This gave us a nice steady flow of clients without having to travel toward town to sell our goods. That was something we did once every season to sell Father's finely crafted weaponry; swords particularly.

The unforgettable sounds of clinking and clanking metal would wake the rest of us every morning. I welcomed it. The sweet chimes of softened iron being pounded on the anvil swelled my heart with ardent alacrity. I relished the possibilities of a fresh new day because of it. My mother and sister, however, felt it was a daily nuisance.

Dragging herself out of a deep slumber Mother would get dressed, and then tend to the livestock and gardens. She worked hard, grinding the flesh from her slim fingers to bone to keep her unappreciative smith happy. She never noticed though, always focusing on the love he _did_ show her. When he found time to show her he cared, he made up for the days he'd let slip by without _I love you_ or a _thank you_. He'd dedicate an entire day to her; showering her with gifts, surprises, and of course, roses. His affection docked in the harbor about once every month, but that never stopped Mother from waiting. It was a rare sort of romance. Her fortitude was matchless, likewise was his devotion to her.

My younger sister, Adrian, was always too young to ever manage physically taxing chores. Mother would have her do simple ones like milk the cattle and fetching pales of water for the horse and cattle troughs. I was expected to pick vegetables, carefully collect chicken eggs, churn butter, and sweep the house so Mother could scrub the floors. She would teach us a new chore every so often, gauging our abilities by our maturity. We admired how Mother could keep such a large house in such tight order. We were working people, – peasants – but just because we looked like them didn't mean we had to live like them. Thankfully, we were but a few of the farmers in England that were independent, not employed by the lord of an estate. It was my Father's strong back that kept us afloat and my Mother's silence that taught us a woman's manners. They were my inspiration.

I was never educated as a child, nor was my sister. We were only taught two things as children: chores and swordplay. Father felt it was necessary for a woman to defend herself; and despite Mother's protests, he would teach us each night before dinner. Being a smith and a former squire, he knew a thing or two about swords. _Slash, parry, slash, step, riposte, step, slash, step, thrust!_ I began lessons at fifteen and for five years my Father was my sparring partner, then Adrian started. He would have us engage each other, using wooden branches, always critiquing as we fought. In the beginning I was the better swordsman, though as time passed, Adrian grew stronger. She was my equal, possibly even better. This sparked a small fear that often manifested in our duels.

Before our training could result in too many welts and bruises, Mother would put a stop to it for a nice dinner. We weren't wealthy enough for schooling of any proper sort, but I believe Mother and Father did just fine. It was due to that very lack of schooling that Father would set aside a bit of money each time he was paid to buy us a book when we reached our twenty-second year, hoping that we would gain some sort of education. He always wanted the best for us, they both did. And in the precarious way that the universe tends to endure, it was on the birthday of my twenty-second year that my story began. It was autumn.

The timeless war waged by sun and moon was slowly overturning. The lunar cycle was gaining favor on a battlefield of emblazoned billowy clouds. Behind them was the backdrop of an impeccable bellflower purple. The sun was setting across the crest of the distant hills, creating wondrous silhouettes of waltzing grasses in the foreground of the heavenly spectacle. We sat at the edge of my family's acreage beneath our favorite oak tree. Its long, sprawling branches provided a shade that only enhanced the scenery. It was all so serene. The cool breeze kissed my cheeks in passing. I grinned in youthful frivolity.

Sitting between my best friend and my younger sister, it was hard to imagine my life any more perfect than how it already was. My mind rolled in a field of thoughts as I contemplated what book Father had bought me. I didn't care what it was, so long as it was a book with proper bindings and pages to fill the empty corners of my over-developed imagination.

"This is how I want my wedding ceremony to be," chirped Adrian, "Vast oceans of beauty and light." My sister, like I, also had an imagination on her; too much adventure inside such a petite young woman. She was feisty, a pistol. Her opinions were like an amaranthine flood and her mouth was a dam that she rarely kept braced. Even so, Adrian's opinions were usually accurate and _always_ incontrovertible – rather vexing at times.

"I wish mine had been so beautiful…" Mary lamented. Adrian's impish face turned thoughtful as she reflected on that day. Her long, waved, charcoal-brown hair, – a reflection of my own – flitted on light wind, catching in the corner of her lips. She fussed with it; drawing it back and barricading it with her palm.

"It _was_ 'so beautiful'. The unplanned rain made it special – romantically unforgettable. Besides, you and Jonathan were smiling throughout ceremony." She seemed sure in her assessment, beaming.

"_He_ was smiling. _She_ was crying." I countered. I reared my head up to adore the sky, straying onto the fringes of the conversation, not necessarily wishing to commit to it.

"Really?" Adrian said, her certainty now occupied by bewilderment.

"Yes," Mary assured her flatly, "I was." Her wild, Irish red-blonde hair twisted and flipped at the will of the winds that had crescendoed for a moment and then fell. Her forest green eyes seemed distant; still lamenting her exaggerated loss.

"It was more like a blubbering wail of a thousand woes," I revised. "Very dramatic, very intriguing." My gaze upon the solar and lunar waltz was halted by a swift slap, and a sudden sting. I massaged my shoulder, locking eyes with the deviously playful expression on my best friend's face.

"You can be so stubbornly humorless, it's embarrassing!" – I prepared myself for another blow and giggled - "Honestly, I don't think we can be friends. At least not in public." Adrian struggled to suppress her chortling to no avail, hopping into my end of the arena. Mary then wrinkled her button nose and jerked her head away from us. She crossed her arms in silly, childish agitation.

"Well at least _I_ am married!" she gloated.

That was a typical strategy of Mary's – the final effort of desperation to win any argument with me: reiteration of my marital status.

"She's right you know," agreed the voice of a pixie-faced turncoat. I swiveled my head back to Adrian. _I knew her loyalties were shaky!_

"Right about _what_?" I questioned. I was more than content with the lack of betrothal and husbandry in my life. Where there were young men, there was trouble, and where there were young women, there were men. Their strategy for snatching us was always dreadfully predictable: lure one of us as far from the pack as possible, and then, _snap_! If they had to, they would turn us against one another – this happened only once between Mary and I, but he wasn't worth it. He was far too handsome, and likewise, far too dense. They were rude, obnoxious, cavalier, belligerent, ostentatious, self-destructive, daft-minded, foul-mouthed, swine – with the exception of Father, bless his heart. All that men added up to was one thing: complication.

Mary was lucky to find a man so perfectly matched. Jonathan did for her whatever she wished and never once did he ask for recompense of any sort. I knew she'd found something special when she introduced us. He was a fine gentleman, and in my opinion the last.

"You aren't married and it's beyond odd, it's unnatural, Emma." The bracings of the dam were down… and here came the flood. "The townsfolk should be calling you an old ma-" I unsheathed wrathful eyes upon my sister, cutting her comment asunder before I drowned in its wake.

"Not another word or I will show you how _unnatural_ I can be!"

"And you say I'm humorless?" Mary interjected, dissolving my anger instantaneously. "Perhaps it is _you _that we should not befriend publicly, old maid." I ignored the comment and moved on.

"Perhaps, did it ever occur to either of you that I love my life the way it is? I have my best friend, a caring sister, and a wonderful family. I've nothing more to ask for. Why should I complicate such a beautiful lifestyle, compromise it; slaughter it on the altar of society's laws?" I sounded as if I'd rehearsed it before, yet this was the first time the three of us had spoken of my feelings on the matter.

"You wouldn't compromise anything, Emma," Mary contradicted. "Men aren't all poor manners and arrogance. Marriage doesn't remove you from your lifestyle, it reinforces it." Her eyes were sincere, caring, and to my disappointment: Christian. That was Mary's only flaw in terms of independent thinking. Her faith in God was admirable and in no way did I ever disrespect that, but it veiled her eyes from understanding other walks of life… like my own.

If finding a mate and getting married was so _natural_ and _reinforcing_, why had God not blessed me with a lover? I respectfully denied His existence for that and many other reasons. It wasn't as though I never tried mind you; it was the simple fact that every man I'd ever met was – at least in this edge of the world – utterly ordinary. I wanted someone who wasn't. I wanted someone humorous. I wanted a respectful gentleman; one who could show you he was with the mere sound of his smooth voice. But most of all, I wanted a man who was… _elegant_… a man whose sheer dignity quelled his need to ever be self-absorbed. If he were handsome I wouldn't mind that either, though for imaginary purposes I'd settle for elegant.

"I'm not sure men are a risk that I'm willing to take… not just yet," I admitted timidly.

"Well, stick to sooner rather than later. Don't let your adventurous spirit draw your attention for too long." Mary said drily. Her words made me realize the irony in my life. Adrian was just as opinionated; just as stubborn and adventurous as I was, yet she welcomed the thought of marriage. And even though she's had little luck in the past - through no fault of her own - she still pursued it. Her first man was trampled by a horse, the other died of dysentery; dubbing her the "Calamity of the Salisbury Plains".

For a very brief, very doubtful moment, I considered the possibility of marriage. If my sister, a young woman who echoed my personality so much – and by genetic accident, my looks as well – could find it in herself to long for such a virtue, why not I? Was I being too harsh in my assessment of the opposite sex? Did they disserve any better? _What if I grew older and older each year, gradually withering into nothing but grey hair, brittle bones, and frail skin?_ I shuddered at the thought, but so long as I had my lifestyle: best friend, sister, and family, what else could I ever want? What else could I ever long for? It all sounded too good to be true. I voided the thought of a handsome prince before it became cancerous. What if I took down the wall I'd built to shut out the men I'd crossed? Taking down bricks made of solid distain, and removing mortar mixed with stereotypical immoralities seemed too great a task. Perhaps I was, in fact, unnatural… but if I was, how was I to understand _natural_? It was a tricky business living against the grain.

"I will think on it," was all I agreed to, and with that, they silenced all other thoughts. "We should head back, Ady, or Mother will add _us_ to the soup." She agreed with patient eyes.

"I should head back as well, Jonathan must be starved," Mary chimed playfully. "You you know how he gets when he's hungry." My sister and I exchanged looks. Jonathan was so soft-spoken and humble that no one could ever see him lashing out in any fashion, least of all over a meal. Had they not been married, he'd have been mistaken for a monk.

"What about Aislin? Don't you think your baby girl will be just as hungry?" asked Adrian.

Mary sighed, "Don't remind me"

The _mentioning_ of my three month old 'niece' brought the mood back to a charming childlike spirit. Aislin was the latest addition; raising the membership of our matriarchal triad by one. Mary had birthed her in early August; her first child and hopefully not the last. She was the daughter we all three shared and all three loved so fiercely. It was she who made me realize I wanted a child more than I did a husband. A child I can deal with. But since you need one to achieve the other I was left foiled once again.

We looked out onto the last bit of sunlight, on the precipice of the horizon. It fell faster, at a quicker pace than I'd expected. I thought of marriage, Mary thought of Jonathan, and Adrian thought of her cadaverous former lovers. We were a trio of outstanding singularity; precious and unique. We stood up, exchanging "farewells" and "good-byes." Leaving the crest of the hill set beneath a star-speckled sky, I adored the moon, realizing the origins of the word "lunacy."

Mother had cooked a special meal for us that night due to the occasion and everyone was excited. It was a delicious chicken soup. The smell was so unbearably lovely. Adrian and I set the table while Father took his chair and relaxed his sore muscles. He stroked his mustache, straining the creased skin over his cheekbones, liberating his mind from the hard day's work. He was always silent until dinner was served; evaluating his day internally with a vacant expression. After Adrian and I took our seats, Mother ladled us all some soup, then took her place at the table. She was always so prim and proper in the way she carried herself, lifting the chair, never pulling it. She never was one to eat first either. She waited for her family – especially visitors. She watched our faces with an intense, yet discreet, gaze; gauging our expression. I suspect it was her own way of reassuring herself she'd made a worthy meal.

Father said grace, the first and most memorable words he would utter every evening. His voice was a low rumble like a drum. _Heavenly Father full of grace, bless this bounty, my land, and my family. May we remain steadfast as You Sheppard us through trials, tribulations, and happiness._ _In nomine Patris __et__ filii __et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._ Though his prayer was scripted he never spoke it so, always saying it with such affection in his voice.

We slowly sipped at the soup, enjoying it, like it was the very nectar of God Himself. _Delicious_ could not define it. The chicken, carrots, cabbage, and onions danced on our palettes with unparalleled flavor. It was like riding a horse at a straight gallop. You're filled with immediate peace of mind – seized by absolute serenity - like you've exited our world and entered paradise… and you never want to leave. It made us forget all the troubles we had and reminded us that no matter what, we always have family.

Our satisfaction showed in the empty pot. Mother, Adrian and I washed the dishes and stowed them away on the shelf for tomorrow morning. Adrian went to bed early, too tired from morning chores and the outing she and I had with Mary earlier. Mother nestled herself into the chair just to the left of the hearth. Father was sitting in the chair opposite Mother. His heart seemed to puddle gleefully, the soup's taste still fresh in memory. After clearing his throat in the thunderous manner he always did, he motioned me toward him.

"Emmeline, come sit." He beckoned. I walked over to him, crossing the old wooden floor. The boards creaked and cracked as I knelt at his feet. My pixie face flushed reliving the excitement I'd felt this afternoon.

"Yes, Father? What is it?" I queried innocently.

"I have something for you," he said, reaching to his coat. It hung off the side of his chair. Father produced a clothe-wrapped present and handed it to me. It was thick and heavy. My heart crescendoed, skipping two beats: one in joy, the other in awe. I'd never received anything from my Father that wasn't a disciplinary howl or a good beating to set my adventurous – and oftentimes troublesome - spirit straight. I'd not forgotten about Father's promise. I was beyond excitement, anxiousness settled in. My eyes flashed to and from Father and the book, my imagination vivid and wild.

"Here you are," he said, almost at a whisper.

In that moment, I felt proud – honored even – to be his daughter. I looked down, adoring every squared edge. Stilling my erratic breathing, I looked back at him with a smile that split between my elfish cheeks to reveal my near-ivory smile. (I was always dentally conscious for an Englander, being born with an innate sense of unrelenting hygiene.) As I gazed upon the lump of cloth in my tightly gripped hands, I knew exactly what it was, but that fact didn't tarnish its value one bit.

"Well don't just sit there staring at it. Open it," he nudged in joyous tone.

And with that invitation I began to untie the cloth as fast as I could, but gently so as not to tug at any of its loose threads. And when I drew back the last bit of cloth, I unveiled a small wooden box. Struck with confusion, I opened it, eyes trembling. Inside were coins, loads of them. It seemed as if it were all the money Father had ever earned. I'd never seen so much in my life.

"What is this?" I choked, flustered.

"It is a gift from a Father to his daughter… You're old enough to be married now and I want you to start your own life. And if you're not married soon you'll be an old maid," he paused, hesitant. I was far too shocked to be upset with those hope-sinking words at the moment. "I want you to find a husband who is wealthy enough to take care of you. This is your dowry. You're a fine young woman, Emma, which will make up for the little you have. Finding your suitor will be easy," he assured me. He took a moment to level his voice and collect words that I would be able to take. "I don't want this life for you Emmeline. Adrian's old enough now and your Mother and I think that she can handle your chores in your stead. She herself should be married off soon once you're gone."

I shot up onto my feet. I could barely breathe. Finding a man on my own was one thing, being forced into it was another. I'd not decided whether I wanted to open my heart to someone just yet. Before I knew it, I was enslaved and bound to the laws of society, and whatever Father said went. However, I wasn't going to take this. Not without going at least another two rounds with Father.

"But Father, what about the harvest? Winter is nearly upon us and you will need my help. Mother, you both can't be serious?" Mother looked astonished that someone wanted her thoughts on that matter, though her surprise did not stop her womanly manners. She shook her head as if to rid her mind of my petulance. Her eyes were overflowing with love and understanding. I knew behind her twinkling, oceanic blue eyes… the same she'd given me… that she unwillingly _had_ to agree with Father.

"It is your father's decision, Emmeline." Her voice was harsh, her eyes were apologetic.

"I've already spoken with the Lords of Cotswolds and Ludlow" Father continued, "and they are both very anxious to meet you. You're a beautiful young woman, Emmeline. I don't want your beauty to fade before it's too late for you to find a suitor." He was sincere, yet commanding.

"Father I don't want to be married," I protested, "I am happiest here at home with you, Adrian, and Mother. I don't want to leave. I won't!"

"Tomorrow I am taking you to see—"

"But Father I want to stay!" I yelped.

"That's _enough!_" he growled.

I was trapped in a familiar standoff with my father... only this time, I could sense that his opinion would not sway. I felt a knot in my stomach wrench its way up into my throat. I couldn't speak. I stood there, humiliated, wishing I'd remembered my place and not been out of line... least of all in front of Mother. Before I could take a breath, tears began rolling down my face. I had to leave. I had to escape. I wiped them from my eyes and went to the front door. I threw it open letting the chilling autumn winds trundle into the house.

"Emmeline!" he yelled after me.

"Albert, let her go... She'll be back." Mother said, shaking her head.

Gideon was my horse. He was Father's wedding gift to Mother, but he never thought of her as sweetly as he did me. Anytime I got a scrape, bruise or scolding, Gideon was there for me to talk to. He was a beautiful buckskin horse with a dark brown tail and mane. He had a sturdy, but gentle look about him. His deep brown eyes, affectionate beyond compare, could quell an infant's tantrum.

I stood there at the gate of his stable and called to him. I could barely see him under the cloak of night. I wasn't sure if he was there for a moment. Then from the blackness I heard the familiar sound of thumping hooves seating deep into the ground, announcing his visitation. He stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight and stood at the gate. He put his head over my shoulder for me to embrace him, just as he always did when I was troubled. Somehow he knew. I stroked the fine hairs on his nose and muscled jaw. I pressed my nose to his neck, taking in his unforgettable scent, the scent I cherished so much. Honeysuckle and cedar… or at least, that's what it was to me. We stood in silence until I no longer wept.

"Gideon, I don't know what to do… Father wants to send me away - to marry me off to a wealthy man for a better life. To someone who I will probably never love…" I sighed in spirit-crushing defeat. "I wish I could convince him to let me stay, but we both know how he can be when he has his mind on something he wants. I wish it didn't have to be this way, Gideon. He wants me to leave everything behind… him, Mother, _Adrian_. I don't want to leave her behind; I'll miss my little sister. I'll miss this place… And of course I'll miss _you_." He snorted and batted his ears. "I'm being forced to leave behind everything I know and enter the daunting unknown; and I don't think I'm ready for that."

I stood, stroking Gideon's nose and watched the autumn leaves blow past the stable. The moon showed bright and full. I couldn't help but admire its beauty. When the wind sighed through the trees and their last few shaking leaves, the moon's beam lit dancing silhouettes of black across the ground and the stables. Things were calm and peaceful. There were no sounds except the creaking of branches and rattling of leaves.

I heard something cut through the silence. It came from around the back of the stables; a rustling. I patted Gideon once more, then quietly and carefully stepped around to the side of the old wooden stables. I glanced around the corner and to my surprise, it was Adrian; knelt on the ground. Her head hung low and pressed tightly to her knees. She was crying and I didn't understand why. I called after her in hushed voice, as to not alert Mother and Father to her sneaking out.

"Adrian." I approached her slowly, gauging the situation, kneel beside her. "Adrian, what is the matter, dear? Why such despair?" I whispered lovingly. There was a brief moment of silence as she wiped away her tears and looked up at me.

"Because you're leaving, Emma... I don't want you to leave me. I don't want you to leave _us_. What will I do without my big sister?" she sniffled. To this I was shocked. Only a few hours ago did she tell me that it was 'unnatural' to not want marriage; that I should embrace it with open arms. It would seem that whilst she was preparing _me_ for that leap of faith, she'd forgotten to prepare herself. I thought better than to comment upon it, so I stated the obvious. Something I knew would not upset her further.

"I suppose you overheard?" I questioned innocently. She nodded and sighed, drawing a long deep breathe. "Well, how couldn't you …" I remarked, examining my saddened sixteen year old sister. I brushed back her charcoal-brown hair and tucked it gently behind her ear.

"Don't worry, Sissy, everything will be alright. You'll just have to soldier on. Be strong and listen to Mother and Father. Though don't listen _too_ often and you'll turn out proper like me," I directed, nudging her shoulder. I caught the glimpse of a small smile out the corner of her mouth. "Besides, I'm not leaving just yet… and of course when I do, I will visit. I'll never leave you behind, Adrian. I couldn't forget about you." I kissed her on the cheek and pulled her into my loving arms. I held onto her, drowning her in sisterly devotion.

"Promise?" she said staring up at me with her big brown eyes that never failed to soften my heart. I smiled, overcome with adoration.

"Promise."

She smiled even bigger than before and hugged me even closer; as if it were our last.

"I'm going to miss our talks while we work in the gardens, helping Mother cook, picking wild flowers along the road in summer," I recalled. She smiled, reliving all the memories spent together throughout the years.

"But you know what I'll miss most?"

"What's that?" she replied.

I smirked. "One… Two..."

Adrian's eyes lit up! She hopped to her feet without a moment's notice.

"Three… Four… Better hurry!"

I covered my eyes while she scurried around the other side of the stables. I was looking everywhere for her until finally _she_ found _me_. Little did I know she had hid beneath some leaves that she'd piled over herself, waiting. Hearing me draw near, she jumped out and grabbed my ankle; scaring me half to death! I tackled her to the ground, tickling her fiercely. That was a wonderful night, playing with my little sister… She always knew how to have fun, but then again she was adventurous like her old- her sister.

After we'd finished with hide and seek, we made a nice little bed of leaves beneath the tree behind our stables. We talked into the night with no sense of time or restraint, counting stars and constellations. As we lay there, I meditated on the anticipated maelstrom of my life. Maybe finding someone to love would be beneficial to both of us - Adrian and me - allowing us to grow independently, yet interdependently as well. I relished the thought.

I concentrated on casting the situation in a positive light. What if Mary was indeed correct? What if marriage doesn't compromise your life, but instead, reinforces it? These and many other questions flowed and churned and swirled through my mind. However, it was just one _word_ that was truly bothering me. It plagued my mind and sullied my soul. I realized I wasn't afraid of marriage, nor was I afraid of losing my family. I was only haunted by one thing: _perhaps_.

4


	2. 2 Winter Guests

2. WINTER GUESTS

A few months had passed since my birthday and Father still had not found a suitor. Fall had faded into winter as soft and radiant snow covered the whole of Great Britain, as if the clouds themselves had fallen to rest gently atop the forests and distant hills. Despite the chill that accompanied my favorite season, Father was ever-persistent in finding a suitor.

Consequentially, Father's persistence became the local chit-chat around the nearby towns and villages. People had caught word of his crusade to auction me off as a lady – which I definitely was not - and by obvious assumption, my virginity as well – which I held in higher regard than any daft tosspot I'd been approached by. It was the challenge no man could deny. They would stop by our little farmhouse trying to barter for my hand in marriage. Can you imagine? Pigs, cattle, horses, vegetables, trinkets; the traveling merchants, scoundrels, and perverted old fools would find anything to barter with. It is a horrific experience, being shown what you're worth to people. It's one thing to hear someone tell you how much you mean to them, however, seeing its pink floppy ears and curled tail staring up at you is another thing entirely.

One by one they besought me; always hoping to get acquainted with my more _natural_ features. Thankfully Father, being a well-practiced lecher himself, was able to see passed the masquerade of lies and descry any ill-intentions. Whether he were a lord or peasant, I was safe knowing my Father wanted nothing less than the best. At the time though, men were the least of my worries. It was December the 11th and it was colder than any fourth-season I could remember. The deep snow was burdensome and the walk to my destination: foreboding.

I cursed myself with every harshly cold step I took for not riding Gideon to Mary's house just up the road. She was my eldest friend of the non-equestrian variety and she was very proud of it. She had caught a cold earlier that week and so I decided to bring her some nice warm soup to help ease the discomfort of illness. Though my soup stood no contest when pitted against Mothers, it was adequate nonetheless. I had wrapped the pot in a blanket to keep warm. As I walked through the forest road, I soon concluded that I'd made the wiser choice. Balancing a pot of soup atop a trotting horse was far too difficult to accomplish without spilling, and uttering many un-ladylike words.

Much to my disappointment, I couldn't stay long. I didn't want to fall ill either; though I didn't want my visit to seem disingenuous. I would need to find the perfect balance of heartfelt conversation and a precautionary exit. This paradox perplexed me as I walked up the snow-covered path to the door from the road.

_Short, but meaningful enough to lift her spirits_.

Mary's little establishment couldn't have been more quaint. A cottage held together with the finest oak. The door too was made of oak as well, a solid and sturdy door with proper metal hinges and a beautiful carving of a leafless deciduous tree in the center that her husband, Jonathan, had spent months detailing. He built the house from the bottom up and refused help from Father or anyone else in building it; saying it was his "duty" as the provider of his family. He was a Thatcher by trade, but men of that era knew how to build most anything.

I knocked three times, admiring the craftsmanship of the tree carving. Hearing heavy footsteps, I snapped to. The door unlatched and swung open. There stood Jonathan, a thin man just taller than me, with dirty blonde hair, hazel eyes and a kind, boyish smile.

"Emmeline. Well, this is a surprise. Come in, come in," he said, motioning me inside with a smile. I entered, hearing the door shut behind me.

"Jonathan," I said; hugging him tightly never-minding his soot-covered tunic.

"How is she?"

"Fine… All we can do is pray and keep 'er warm." he replied. I could tell he was uneasy, as he had lost his mother to a cold the previous winter. A guarded expression only a true friend could have noticed, though I knew better than to speak of it.

"She'll be fine. I brought something for her."

I lifted back a portion of cloth and lifted the lid. The steam bellowed out and upward allowing us to enjoy the soup just as much without tasting it.

"Oh, thank ye. I don't s'pose she's taken well to me cookin'. This'll do nicely."

"You're welcome. If you'll keep it warm on the fire, I'll take some to her. Help yourself." I handed him the pot and unwrapped it from the blanket. He nodded and carefully walked it to the hearth where he hung it just inside.

Just beside the hearth, I spotted my favorite drop of sunshine in a crib. Aislin was fast asleep. Jonathan had moved the crib closer to the hearth so she could keep warm; yet he kept her at a cautious distance. I pranced over to the edge of the crib and knelt down to my enchanting baby niece. I adored her. Her large, curved eyes rested closed and her fiery red locks curled out around the blankets she was bundled in. She was wrapped like a mummy, only her face exposed. Such innocence could not have had a better image. I broke my gaze, looking back to Jonathan. He was knelt stoking the fire when he noticed I was looking at him. We exchanged smiles. We both knew I was gushing with maternal love for his child. This eliminated any need to speak on it. Before Aislin could become any more intoxicating, I kissed her gently (a token of my softened heart) and picked up the skirt of my dress.

I flitted back to their kitchen and fetched a bowl, ladle and spoon. It was obvious that Jonathan had been doing all the chores in Mary's stead when I found that all three utensils were not in their proper place. When I returned to the living room, he was still stoking the fire, stirring the embers. They casted the most seductive orange glow across the walls of the cottage. He tossed me a cordial smile as I ladled the soup into the bowl, to which I volleyed and then walked to the bedroom door.

I opened the door slowly, seeing that the room was lit by three candles on the bedside table. I stepped inside and shut the door carefully. The multitude of blankets spilled over her making it difficult to tell whether a body was even in the bed at all. The only indication was the reddish-blonde hair shimmering in the candlelight. So peaceful.

"Mary. Mary, dear, it's me," I whispered.

Mary slowly opened her eyes and looked around the room. I had woken her. She yawned and sighed, sitting upright on the bed.

"Emma," she said, "Good to see you."

"It's good to see you too," I said stepping to her bedside and sitting down, "I heard you weren't well, so I brought you some soup."

"You're too kind, dear."

I handed the soup to her; she was warmed by my generosity. I smiled.

"Your mothers?" she asked.

"Mine, actually."

Her contented expression changed immediately.

"Ugh… knew it was too good to be true."

"I love you too, wench," I said, pinching her arm.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, chuckling, "We've been friends far too long for guarded speaking."

"Just try some."

She brandished her spoon, unsure of the tastes that would soon befall her. She looked up at me with unwilling eyes then looked back at the soup. With one smooth motion, she spooned into her mouth. I could tell she didn't like it, but didn't particularly _dis_like it either.

"Better than last time," she said coughing hard into her hand.

I looked her up and down, examining her skin; paler than her usual Irish fair.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she said. I noticed that she had slowly and subtly grasped the crucifix pendant around her neck. At this I felt it was only right to ask:

"Are you afraid, Mary?"

"No. I am one of God's children. I yield to his greatness and divine will. If I should die, let it be up to him. I care not…"

She was lying. Mary had feared death every since we were children. She first experienced it during her fourth year as a child. Her mother had lost her baby sister Tessa to the wolves. She went mad and took a kitchen knife to her wrists one afternoon. Mary had already left for my house; we were going to the river that day with my family. Mary found her later that night. She was curled up in the wardrobe wearing the same necklace Mary wears today. Her father didn't find out until he returned from his business trip in London three days later.

"Your enduring faith is admirable," I said, cutting through the silence.

"You have to have faith in something."

"Do I sense another incursion upon my atheism?"

"No, no, no," she recanted, "I wouldn't dare scold your heathen ways - least of all to your face."

"Thank you… I think."

She gave a small chuckle that turned into a loud and hard cough. I turned back to the bedside table and took her handkerchief out of the drawer. She plucked it out of my hand, dabbed and wiped her face with it, and then set it next to the bowl of steaming soup. Blood. The tell tale sign of extreme illness and oftentimes impending death. She sat for a moment; her chest hung over in exhaustion, then she pulled back her hair and mustered a smile for me. Another lie.

"See? It's nothing." The statement came with a quivering and a groping hand in search of the crucifix.

"You _will_ be fine," I said in false observation, "Are you finished?"

"Yes, thank you."

I took her bowl, spoon, and handkerchief; setting it on the bedside table.

"Emma, come here," she said surveying my shivering. I hadn't noticed. She invited me to sit next to her, drawing back a bit of the blankets next to her and patting the bed.

"You must be freezing."

I stood up and walked around to other side of the bed and crawled beneath the heap of blankets and quilts. One of which was the one Mother made for her last Christmas. I nestled myself next to her and pulled her in close, resting her head upon my bosom. I held her for a moment or two, both of us deep in the truthsome mood of self-evaluating that often prefaces the advent of death.

"Emma?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember when we were children? How on those warm summer days we would take Gideon up to the meadow. How we would dance in the long grasses; making merriment that only the winds and sky could behold. We were so remarkably vibrant; letting our imaginations seize us as we ensconced ourselves in a waved ocean of grass. Oh, how we would talk for hours on end; the sun lounged with us…"

There was a quiet moment as we reflected on our childhood. I'd forgotten about our summers together. However, when assessing the situation at hand I realized I had not forgotten; I had merely taken it for granted.

"Emma," she whispered.

"Yes dear?"

"Do you suppose that's what heaven is like?"

"Like what?"

"Blitheness as only a child could render."

"Yes. I suppose it is," I sighed, "but that's talk for another day."

She always was one for mellow drama, though this wasn't too far removed from the reality of things. I sat there thinking of what I could say to help her – anything – but that was all she really needed: reassurance that there _is_ something to look forward to beyond mortality. With that I decided it best to leave. I looked down; she was already asleep. My heart stopped. Was she asleep? I lifted the blankets a bit; beneath all of them, it was difficult to tell. I tilted my head scanning the near darkness spoiled by candlelight. Upon seeing her chest rise and expand my heart resumed its familiar duties. And that was adieu.

I slinked out of the bed, and tucked the blankets around her. Stepping lightly, I went to the other side picking up the bowl and spoon. As I was slowly swinging the door closed, I gazed through the diminishing crack at my dearest friend - red hair strewn around her porcelain face - smiling peacefully enveloped in pleasant dreams.

"Night, Jonathan."

"Thanks fer' the pot. We'll git' it to ye' shortly," he said. He stood in the doorway, appearing guilty that he had nothing to repay my generosity.

"Take it for as long as you'd like."

"C'mon back soon, hey?"

"I will. Take good care, dear," I said embracing him before he could reply, "please… don't let her die tonight. Do you hear me?"

I stood on the doorstep wrapped in the soup blanket, still warm from the mantle where it had hung whilst I visited with Mary. I studied Jonathan with doubt and disappointment. Confused, he could only nod at the whims of my feminine emotions. I tried desperately to Sheppard my tears, but two strayed from the flock; gliding down my rouged cheeks. I ended the awkwardness with, "Fair well," spinning on my heel and retracing my footsteps down the hill toward the forest.

The moon lit the road that ran through the forest. No torch was necessary on that particular night as the lunar beams illuminated the snow on the forest floor. I reveled in thoughts of a warm fire to come home to. Aside from the footprints I'd laid this afternoon, the snow was untouched; a smooth, pristine ground to admire, though my thoughts were elsewhere. I gazed up at the moon and its surrounding clouds through what the jagged scar in the forest's trees would show me. Despite my best efforts my mind turned back to Mary. I couldn't help but feel that that was the last time I would ever see her again.

There was no wind. The snow fell calmly and quietly: flakes falling and nestling themselves on the forest floor and the canopies of the evergreens slowly; delicately, without spoiling the scene. Though the snow was deep and the air was a dry freeze, I kept warm. I wore the blanket as a shawl over my head to keep my ears warm.

As I neared the end of the forest, something caught my eye. It was something that was brief but noticeable; a sudden shadow had darted through the trees. I stopped. The forest was

silent. I looked ahead through the trees; nothing was there. I looked back. Not a thing to be found. A sudden chill of fear crept up my spine making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I was suddenly filled will inexplicable fear. I had walked that road at night many times before and _never_ had I ever been afraid; somehow this time was different. This time, I couldn't help but feel like something was out there - wolves perhaps? Another shadow passed between trees.

I took a third glance around to my sides and double-checked behind me, but again there was nothing to be found. My fear materialized itself into long swirling clouds as I breathed heavily.

"Good evening, miss!" I jumped at the voice behind me. I whipped around to face a man.

I was stunned, gasping for air. My consciousness had escaped me when he'd startled me.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, forgive me."

He spoke with a strange accent; one I'd never heard before. He was nicely dressed in black from head to toe. He wore a doublet, breeches, gloves and boots with silver buckles. He was handsome and fit – the alluring type that any woman could imagine. The black waved hair came down just above his shoulders, only enhancing his faultless fair skin in juxtaposition. His excruciatingly flawless green eyes sat just above lifted cheek bones and hearty lips that had curved upward into a smile at my current state of trepidation. I detested his sense of humor, but even more so: his captivating smile. _Behold! My elegant man._

4


	3. 3 The Nobleman

3. THE NOBLEMAN

In my experience with men, I've come to the conclusion that there are three very distinct classes. The Alpha Male: a devilishly attractive, particularly brawny, man who reasons with the world around him by means of his sexuality and confidence. Though his physique is oftentimes more advanced than his intelligence, the Alpha Male has little to worry about when wooing a prospect. Second, the Beta Male: a more intelligent, yet less attractive and muscular than the Alpha. Though a Beta Male may have to work a little harder to find a mate, their average looks and slightly higher intellect may be an endearing quality that many other females fancy. Lastly, the Omega Male: being the most supreme class of male, the Omega Male is aptly named for their ability to attract a female on pure charisma without her knowing the game has ended. They have the superior body and good-looks of an Alpha coupled with the heightened intellect of a Beta, but surpassing either at both. They are the most dangerous of the three classes, and it wasn't long until I pieced everything together: this man was one of them.

"Miss?" he said, studying me as I tried desperately to steady my breathing.

"A moment, my lord, whilst I collect myself," I sighed, wiping the fear from my face, and leaning against a nearby tree.

"By all means."

I measured him up and then measured him down. His clothing would suggest he were a nobleman of sorts. Given this, I had no reason to fear him. Nobles of that time, unlike commoners, walked a narrower path in society and had little inclination towards the raping or ill-treatment of women – with few exceptions. After a few more deep breaths and a long heavy sigh, I looked back to him.

"You startled me, my lord!"

As much as it pained me to address him so formally, it was only common sense to do so. It was disrespectful to use raised voice when in the presence of a nobleman; however, at that moment I did not particularly care to curb my upset.

"I really must apologize."

"What were you thinking: sneaking up on me like that?" I asked.

"Sneaking involves intent. I was merely walking by, milady, and wished to bid you a good evening. It would be rude of me to not exchange words in passing."

"I didn't see you," I mumbled.

"Then excuse me once more, I always was one to tread softly."

_If he apologizes one more time, I will vomit._ _What nobleman is so kind?_

These foreign ideas wearied me.I couldn't help but study this man for he seemed… strange. I hadn't ever met a nobleman before with such a polite demeanor toward a peasant.

"That's alright. I stopped here for a moment. I thought I…"

"Yes?" he questioned eagerly.

"I thought I needed some rest."

"I see… What is your name kind miss?"

"Emmeline," I answered without thinking. "And yours, my lord?"

"I am pleased to meet you Miss Emmeline. You may call me: Vlad… And what," he added, "are you doing out so late? Do people of this edge of the world often travel the roads alone by night?"

"No, not usually. I had an errand that ran later than expected."

I could tell that he wanted to delve even deeper into the subject, but decided against it. I didn't know him. Why indulge his inquisition?

"And what errand deprives you from the warmth of your home, milord?"

"Just Vlad, if you please," he smiled, permitting himself a step toward me.

_Who was this man and why is he so… humble?_ No nobleman would ever have a commoner address him in such an informal fashion. I say "informal" because formally he should have trampled me over before he'd bid me a good night. I could not help but be curious at his unorthodox approach to the echelon of society. It discomforted me.

"As you please," I curtsied.

"'Riding' is the unfortunate answer to your question, dear Emmeline," he said; so matter of fact. I looked up the road beyond him and did not spot a horse or carriage nor hoof prints.

"Then where be your horse?"

"That's the unfortunate thing you see, I took my horse out for a good ride in the forest.

It wasn't too far from here that he got away from me," he said sheepishly, denying me eye contact for fear of the delightful expression that was across my face. It could not be contained. I found his current situation endearing; like a duckling struggling to keep up with its family while crossing a road.

"Wha-," I said suppressing a giggle, "What exactly happened?"

"The snow was deeper then I'd expected; he slipped and fell. Before I knew what happened, I was thrown off. He was terribly frightened. When he recovered he galloped down the road this way. Naturally, I came looking for him." He sighed in defeat. "The further I search, the further I am from home. Not that I could find it by mere moonlight at this hour."

It was a crossroad. Either bid him farewell for a lovely night or invite him to stay with me and my family. I wouldn't want him to freeze to death. God only knows how far away he is from home… though on the other hand I wasn't particularly fond of his dreadfully gorgeous good looks, his undeniable charm, and his easily dealt respect for me. I thought on this during a shared moment of silence. How oddly perverse it was to distrust and dislike this man over good character. Yes, he was a man of seemingly good nature, but a woman of _my_ nature knew better than to trust him first and know him second.

"It's getting late. I really must be going."

"Yes, yes, you should," he agreed. There was a brief silence.

"And I don't think I should walk alone."

"I don't think you should either," he agreed once more, "I should say you'd be better off if someone walked you home… to make sure you arrived safely."

"Indeed," I said, desperately fighting the urge to attack his delicious lips that had curved up into the smile I detested so much. I looked out at the road to distract myself and avert my eyes elsewhere.

"Well then," he said, derailing the awkwardness.

"Well then," I said, gulping down a gasp, "it's settled… though this does not mean that you are invited to stay with my family and I. That authority lies with my father."

He took a few steady steps toward me. Never breaking his gaze from mine, he lifted his elbow with grace as any respectable escort would.

"Then let us hope that your father finds it in his heart to pity the fool who took a tumble and lost his horse."

The rest of the way home was a little uneasy at first, though slowly my apprehension began to dwindle as we talked. Small talk went on to conversation; and conversation lead to obvious banter. He spoke to me as if I were an equal; which eased tension and made liking him much easier – if at all possible. I would divulge anything. All it took was his smile.

When we arrived, we stopped in front of the door. I looked up at him, grasping his arm to gain his attention. _Firm and muscular, does he possess any flaws aside from keeping horses?_

"I should let you know… my family may be little _too_ hospitable. They aren't used to good company."

"Well that's a relief."

"What?" I asked.

"You think I'm good company," he smirked.

I hoped that he had not noticed my blushing and had mistaken it for winter rouge… though I knew he wasn't naïve enough to think it was. With that, I lifted the latch on the door and entered; him right behind me.

A small swirl of flakes blew in after us as I shut the door behind him. As I stood at the door unwrapping myself from the soup blanket, I felt the warmth of the blazing fire wash over me. The prancing flames emitted mirrored shadows on the walls and ceiling. The empty wood rack and Father's abandoned chair could only mean that he was out behind the stables chopping more wood. I never understood why he didn't chop enough during the day. Closest I could guess was that he needed to satisfy his unyielding need to constantly work. Mother sat in her chair, Adrian on the floor beside her. She was teaching Adrian to mend clothing. Adrian was an obvious amateur in comparison. That fact became apparent to her when she realized that she had just sewn her dress skirt shut. She looked upon the garment forlornly for a moment before noticing me; but more importantly: _him_.

"Mama…" she whispered.

Mother looked up from her work, interrupting her diligence and realizing what her youngest daughter was referring to. I could tell the interruption was well justified as I watched both their faces snap-to with looks of astonishment and approval in the wake of Vlad's untamable natural allure. After a moment, Mother began stammering for words. I pardoned her, raising my hand, and took the liberty of introducing our winter guest myself.

"Mother, this is Vlad," I announced, extending a smirk in his direction and hoping he didn't notice. Without breaking her gaze, she leaned down to Adrian.

"Tell your father," she whispered, "Be quick."

And with that, Adrian laid down her botched dress and stood up. As she was about to run passed us, she stopped and looked up at Vlad. She gave a look of confusion. At this, he grinned and gave a small bow. Her embarrassed expression and rosed cheeks prompted a swift curtsey as she fled out the front door, chilling my ankles as it swung open and shut. Mother rose to her feet, laying the dress she was mending over the back of her chair. She studied Vlad as she stepped closer. She curtsied with her head hung low as a peasant should: like an obedient dog; yet she did so with the grace of royalty.

In her smooth alto voice she greeted him saying, "Good evening, my lord."

Vlad stepped forward, towering over my petite mother. He then cradled her hand in his, granted it a light and soft kiss. An importunate little twinge of jealousy poked me in the side as I witnessed this. _My mother receives the kindhearted kiss that should've been given me. What misfortune!_

"Good evening, ma'am," he said, "And please, call me 'Vlad.' I am not _the_ Lord, nor do I wish to diminish his greatness by having others refer to me as such."

Mother wasn't used to flattery. It was somewhat of ancient myth now that she was married and age was taking its toll on her in every way possible. Father never was one for flattery – figured it was useless to state the obvious. So, I wasn't surprised when she let out a juvenile chortle in response to Vlad's flattery.

"Oh! What a gentleman!" she exclaimed.

"You're too kind."

"What brings a gentleman such as you out this way?"

"Misfortune and your lovely daughter," he answered, this time catching my smile.

"Oh? What happened?"

"It's a long story, mum," I interjected, "He's stranded and far from home."

"I'm sure it would be alright if you stayed with us for the night, dear, though it's her father that has the final say in that."

"So I've heard... If he would not have me as his guest by invitation, I would gladly pay for my stay here."

"That won't be necessary, dear," she reassured him, "Something tells me he'll think you'll do just fine!" Confused, he looked down to me, and then back at Mother, who was unnaturally happy at the moment. _Cursed flattery! _I shot her a look of disapproval at the suggestion of courtship.

"Let's sit," I said motioning him to the dining room table a few steps away, "Father will be in momentarily."

"Your cloak, dear?" asked Mother, extending her helping hands. He untied it and gracefully handed it to her. She then walked around to the hearth and hung it there to dry away the dampness from the snow. From the corner of my eye, I could swear I saw her clutching the collar of the cloak, pressing it to her nose therapeutically.

I pulled out the chair that I sat in and gestured he take it. He did, and I walked around to Adrian's chair across the table. I sat down, and took a deep breath.

During this brief awkward silence I allowed my mind to wander, pondering a thing or two. _Why would Vlad have ever kissed my Mother on the hand?_ No nobleman would have ever reached out to a peasant in such a manner under any circumstances; yet _he_ did. There was something strange and unsettling about this man that I could not deny any further. However, before I could proceed with my questions, Mother got ahead of me.

"If you don't mind my asking, where are you from?" she asked, "The tongue in which you speak is foreign to me. I've not heard it before; Germanic perhaps?"

"I hail from a place far beyond these shores or that of Germany, madam."

"Where are you from then?" I requested, masking my incredulousness with curiosity.

"I'm from-"

Just then Father came bursting through the door, nearly tearing it from its hinges. It stopped with a crack and a snap against the wall. Snow rolled into the house. Father stepped to the side of the hearth next to Mother setting the bundle of wood on the rack, and after him came Adrian. She shut the door for Father, who hadn't the wits at the time to close it himself, and then carried her small bundle to the rack as well. She then walked over and sat with Mother, both of them wide-eyed and attentive with anticipation.

"Where is he? I'd like to meet this fine young man!" he cried with unbridled excitement, looking to Mother for an answer. She gestured over his shoulder behind him.

"Turn 'round, dear."

"Father I'd-"

"Good evening, sir! Welcome to our home!" he interrupted, never-minding my formal introduction. He trotted round to his side and grabbed his hand, shaking it firmly with all the gratitude and respect he felt Vlad deserved. He rose to meet his hand shake properly so as to not appear rude, though as a noble it was his right.

"What brings you our way, sir?"

"Well... um…"

"Oh that doesn't matter!" he recanted, "Sit down! Sit down! Make yourself comfortable. Please."

"Thank you."

Vlad did as instructed, looking to me for a way to quell my overwhelming father's fascination. Father walked passed us and sat in his familiar chair at the head of the table.

"Father I'd like you to meet Vlad."

"Pleased to meet you."

"And you as well," Vlad replied.

"Vlad was abandoned in the cold by his horse, so I brought him home. I couldn't leave him out there with not but the clothes on his back for warmth. Would it be alright if he stayed just this night with us?" I implored.

"Oh yes, that'd be quite alright! We'll get you something to eat and you can take your stay here. You can sleep in Emmeline's room tonight if you'd like," he solicited. I shot Father a murderous look of disapproval over Vlad's shoulder, to which he ignored.

"No thank you, sir, that isn't necessary. I'll do fine on the floor with a few quilts."

"Nonsense. You may sleep in my bed tonight," I said in confidence. At this his eyes widened.

"And I will sleep on the floor next to Father," I continued. "Ady, that means you too."

I could tell she was less than thrilled with me for forfeiting our room without her approval, though she would not protest in Vlad's presence. So she simply nodded and that was that.

"Tomorrow I'll take you home; where ever that may be, first thing," said Father.

"Thank you; I'm flattered by your generosity, but I do not wish to overextend your services any more than what's necessary. I can manage the journey myself," Vlad assured him.

"Nonsense! It's no burden to me at all, really."

"I'm sure I'll do just fine on foot, but thank you for your offer," he smiled

"Have it your way..." he said sheepishly, "Vlad. Now that's a name I've not heard before. What be your surname if you don't mind my asking?"

It wasn't until Father asked that I realized he'd never given me his surname. Come to think of it, noblemen would always introduce themselves by first and last name followed by their title. Back then, prestige and lineage were held in the highest regard. _Why would he have kept this from me? Had he forgotten to mention it? Not likely._ The more time I spent in the presence of this man, I kept finding pieces to a puzzle that didn't match. I was walking the fine line between curiosity and paranoia.

"Yes... What _is_ your surname? You've not mentioned it," I questioned.

"I am Vlad Dracul the III, Prince of Wallachia."

_Prince? Either I'm trapped in an elaborate dream or just damned lucky!_

"A prince?" asked Father with childish delight.

"Yes, sir," he assured him.

_Lucky!_

"Well did you hear that, Ingrid?" he called to Mother, "A prince!"

I think Father was more excited than I was.

"I heard, dear," she said.

"And where exactly _is_ Wallachia? France?"

"Oh no, not France. It's in Romania."

"Romania, eh? Oh I've heard nothing but terrible stories 'bout that place," he said darkly.

"Really?" Vlad asked, "What kind?"

"Well… to be honest sir, they're stories of tyrannous rulers…" he confessed.

It was then that I noticed Vlad clutching his hand into a tight fist, his eyes forming hard thin lines. He stood up then said something as civil as possible; trying to mask his anger or frustration.

"My father was a noble man who looked after his country with greater care than any man ever could. I'll not have his name tarnished by folk tales and slanderous gossip." There was a brief silence. Everyone was taken aback at his reaction, though it was well-justified. Father cut through it with a few words of sincerity.

"I'm sorry, sir… I did not mean to offend you… was just sharing what I've heard is all."

"It's alright... You must forgive me; I did not mean to be so harsh. My father meant the world to me. I am in need of rest, so I shall go to bed. Never mind the food for now. Perhaps I'll eat later…"

"As you wish," he said humbly, "Emmeline, will you show this fine lad to his room and fix it neatly for him?"

"Yes, Father," I said obediently standing up and motioning Vlad to follow me. "Ady? Will you assist me?"

"Yes, Sissy," she agreed, standing up and meeting us at the base of the staircase.

"Good evening. Rest well," Father called, as Vlad and I began our trek up the stairs.

"And you all as well," Vlad replied.

I led Vlad up to our room, feeling that my home and my family were inadequate for him with every creaking step I took. He seemed different somehow. Father really had offended him. I knew better than to speak of it though. The exchanging of words between men were meant to stay between men. Women held little sway in those days and the last thing a man wanted was our input.

I opened the door to our room, revealing a quaint couple of beds set on either side of a window. On Adrian's nightstand she kept a doll, the ugliest little thing, but loveable in its ugliness. It was her only childish obsession. On mine, I kept a small hairbrush that we both shared. At the foot of our beds was each of us a chest for clothing and other such belongings. I felt a wave of embarrassment as he took a look around our room. I knew it wasn't up to his usual standards; this fact bothered me. Though he did not make a point of it; I could see that he admired its character.

Adrian and I took the two beds and pushed them together to make one large bed. I took the blankets off Adrian's bed and set them on the floor. Then I pulled the blankets from my bed across the both of them. It was fit for a king, or in this case, a prince.

"There you are. Pleasant dreams," I said, mustering a smile.

I then picked up Adrian's blankets and was about to walk out the door before I felt a hand on my shoulder: _his_ hand.

"Emmeline, wait," his gentle voice requested.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for everything. Your hospitality knows no bounds. You've been most helpful tonight."

"It was my pleasure, Vlad. Please, excuse my fa-"

And before I knew what had happened, Vlad pressed the lips I'd longed for all evening against mine. They were cold, but that did not ruin the delectability of their silky softness as they riddled my lips with passionate soul-binding serenity. I allowed his aroma to fill me with untouchable pleasure. And before I knew it, he broke away from me. He then gave me that devilishly arousing smirk.

"Goodnight," was all he said, and with that I exited my room, adrift the sea of love.

I danced down the staircase into the living room to my family. Father and Mother were talking in a hushed tone and Adrian was lying on the floor watching the flame dancing the tarantella in the fireplace like a caravan of gypsies passing a lake in the night. I went to Adrian, knelt down and laid her blankets beside her. She had a far off look on her face. She seemed bothered.

"Sissy, what's the matter?" I whispered.

With her eyes still fixed on the fire, she whispered back, "Something's not right about that man."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, Emma... I just don't trust him," she admitted.

"He seems to be a fine gentleman that comes from a respectable lot of people. He's just had a rough night. I'm sure he'll be right fine tomorrow after some much needed rest."

"I still don't trust him," she sighed, rolling over onto her back.

"Alright... Well, here are your blankets. If you could spare one for me tonight, that'd be nice. I'm going out to the stable to see how Gideon is taking to the cold," I said, void of enthusiasm at the chore.

"Don't be too long."

I left the house and walked to the stable, but not before grabbing Father's coat. Gideon was curled up in the corner of the stable on his bed of hay. I called to him in the same tongued clicks that I always did. He stood up and approached the gate; shaking off the cold. I stood there like I always did and stroked his nose for a little while.

I entered the stable and went to the back, taking the blanket and saddle from the post. I brushed him a bit before saddling him up. I laid the saddle blanket over his back, and then strapped the saddle on over it. After I put on his halter and bit, I took the reins, opened the gate, and led him out. Then I latched the gate behind me. Putting my foot in one of the stirrups, I heaved up, and sat upon him. This was very important exercise for Gideon during the winter and even though it was troublesome for me, I still enjoyed it. He needed it to get his blood circulating and beat the cold. We went out down the hill trotting along without a real destination in mind. I talked to him as I always did on our nightly walks. His hooves beat deep into the snow with each heavy step he took.

"How are you doing, boy? Are you warming up?"

I paused, taking in the cold, sharp air.

"I met a man tonight. I was on my way home from Mary's and he was left stranded by _his_ horse. You wouldn't leave me stranded would you?" I smirked, "Of course not, you're too brave to be spooked."

He snorted, exhaling a plume of breath through his nostrils. I thought for a while as we moved along, and before I knew it my turmoil was too much to contain.

"I have far too many questions about this man, Gideon. He seems to be very upstanding and polite, but there is something… unsettling about him. I'm willing to give this one a chance. I think he was just a bit on edge tonight because he wasn't well rested. I'm sure he'll be fine in the morning... Adrian doesn't seem to trust him, but I'm sure she will grow to enjoy the benefits of his company... Perhaps I'm letting my emotions cloud everything… Let's head back. You should be fine now." A few kicks and we were already started back.

I talked to him a bit more as we made the trek back up the hill. He trudged further and further until finally for some reason, he stopped. He began to jostle and jerk back and forward. Something had him scared.

"What is it, Gideon? Calm down, boy. Everything is fine we're almost home now," I said softly, leaning down to brush his neck, "Look around, there's nothing-"

It was then that I looked up and saw ominous rolling clouds of black smoke rising above the trees. It filled the night sky and muddied the sight of the pristine full moon. I wasn't sure where the smoke was coming from, but knew that it seemed far too large for a chimney fire.

"Come Gideon, make haste!"

I kicked him in the side and he knew just what to do. He reared back, spooling confidence before digging up snow in a full force gallop. He snorted hard as he took us faster and faster. His hooves sank deep, but that didn't stop him. The trees whisked by so fast I couldn't catch the slightest glimpse of detail. We retraced our tracks back, around the bend, and up to the top of the hill. When we reached the crest, I could not believe my eyes. He halted immediately in front of the home we both knew so well; engulfed in a sea of fire.

Flares spat out the windows of my room as I watched its roof collapse. I rushed Gideon to the stable and tied him to the gate, then ran to the front door, ignoring the flames that fell from the thatching of the roof. My heart beat hard in a rhythm that was in consistent and unusual. I had to see if everyone was safe. My family was all I had and I didn't want to lose them.

I threw open the door and a small flare shot out with a crackling hiss. I turned to cover my face and lost my balance, falling to the ground. The glow of the embers on the doorway waved with heat. When I looked up I saw someone. I couldn't tell who it was through the plume of heat at first, but when my vision cleared I saw the most terrifying thing I'd ever witnessed. There knelt before me was Vlad, on the floor with Adrian in his arms and his teeth sunk deep into her neck. The fire surrounding them had crawled up the walls and chairs, which were strewn about. She stared at me with lifeless glazed eyes. Blood streamed from her neck down to her shoulder; it spilled down her arm, staining her blanket and night gown. I screamed in terror as I watched my sister be bled dry by our winter guest. The floor boards snapped and hissed with heat as the flame came creeping up through the cracks between the boards. As Vlad unsheathed his teeth, he looked up and met my eyes.

He stared at me for a moment; my sister's blood running out his mouth, down his chin, and neck. His expression conveyed a remorseful apology; realizing the pain he had caused me. He knew he could never truly feel the terror that had consumed me. Seeing no solution, he slowly, he laid her down, rose, and walked toward me; ignoring the fire around him. I sat there crying and shaking as he approached me. I couldn't move. The house was falling apart and fire was everywhere. I knelt on the ground in defeat. God spare me the pain and please have mercy.

He grabbed me, picked me up and put me back on my feet. I was still in shock; limp and weak, but he held me steady with his hands on my shoulders. The apologetic remorse hadn't left his face.

"They're all dead Emmeline. All gone. Your mother, father, and now your sister. I didn't want them; I wanted you. Our kiss compelled me. I could not deny your sweet taste any longer, and they were the next closest thing… She knew from the beginning, you know. Yet you are alive and she has passed. Forgive me my demons…"

He forced his piercing stare upon me.

"Come now," he hissed, his eyes emblazoned by reflection of fire, "I shall grant you the serenity that has been denied me."

In one swift and fluid motion, he spun me about into a dip. My head whipped back, and for the briefest yet most life altering moment of my life, I saw Adrian's discarded body, heaped on the floor. Her eyes, barren of life, etched their likeness into my mind.

His teeth entered my flesh like searing hot iron rods; deep and hard. I felt my blood flowing from my neck and down my breast. Darkness was consuming me, as slowly, he drained me of life. I cried out in brutal agony as I felt his cursed venom course through my veins. Then in that moment, just as I felt all hope was gone, he let me loose, shrieking in pain.

I dropped to the ground, faint and unsteady. I looked up to see him turn around with an axe imbedded into his spine. In front of him was Father; who was barely standing and bleeding from the head and brow. He had planted the axe into Vlad's back and I could tell he hadn't a plan that went passed that point. Vlad fell to his knees in anguish as he began to unhinge the axe.

"Emmeline," Father commanded, "take Gideon and ride hard! Make haste and don't look back! Run!"

I staggered to my feet, and called for Gideon doing just as Father instructed. I stumbled, dragging myself toward him. He was still tied to the stable gate and was trying all he could to loosen himself, fighting for a chance to escape the horrifying scene. I untied him, mounting up as well as I could and Gideon took off up the road. Mary's house would be the safest place for me to stay. Mary could help me, besides she was the only friend I had now.

I began losing strength as Gideon ran onward. I began to feel tired and dizzy. My head hung, I watched the snowy grasslands of Britannia fly by. Through the trees we travelled. I could see Mary's house. Her firelight shined through the window in the dark. Closer and closer; I could see it. The bleeding didn't stop, it couldn't be lessened. We drew near and I began to call out her name, again and again, and when we reached her yard I called out to her once more. I was covered in blood... My eyes could no longer stay open... I fell off my valiant steed onto the ground; dying the snow to crimson red.

9


	4. 4 Auxilio Ab Alto

4. AUXILIO AB ALTO

The dream was unlike any other I'd experienced. I stood in the knee-high wheat fields just below my home. It was not consumed in flame, nor was it burned to the ground. It was pristine - beautiful - as if it had been built only yesterday. The thatching on the roof was well-laid - even - and trimmed around the edges, not a piece out of place. The daubed walls were a crisp white - as if they had not stained at all over the years - and it shimmered in the daylight of the cool afternoon. The forest that lay just behind the picturesque homestead swayed playfully; the waltzing evergreens announcing a gentle wind. It splashed my face with the smell of wild flowers, picking up my hair, violently thrashing through it as it whistled by. Mother, Father, and Adrian were tending to the front garden following the usual mechanical routine. It was another brisk, but ordinary, spring day.

It was then that I felt something brush against the skirt of my dress. At first I'd mistaken it for a strong gust, until I felt it brush against my ankle and foot. Without breaking my gaze from the house on the hill, I bent at the waist; my fingers - outstretched - searching for what was near me. It was course in singular nature, but soft as a collective whole, like grass, though this I could tell was not. It was much too fine to be blades of grass… fur. I looked down to meet the kind and piercing gaze of a handsome wolf sitting beside me. His grey fur coated him from paws to legs and crept upward even further to paint his belly, chest and lower jaw. Across his back from tail to snout was glistening black fur. He flicked his ears as I knelt to embrace him, his glass yellow eyes inviting me to do so.

Strangely, I did not fear him, despite what I was told about his kind from childhood. He was… different. Like an old friend that had popped in for an unexpected visit. He gently nuzzled the crook of my neck, sweeping his divinely beautiful coat against me. Allowing myself to stroke his side, I could tell that he welcomed my company. We looked up the hill, the both of us enjoying the extraordinarily pleasing scene.

It was then, just when the moment could not have been any more perfect – any more utopian, dark and daunting clouds lurked menacingly over the distant forest. They spilled over the house, the garden, and still my family continued working. They did not pay heed to the coming storm, as if they knew it was coming… or as if it were never there.

I looked to the wolf surprised, astonished by the sudden change of weather. There was a deep, low growl that resonated in his chest as he stood up. His paws dug in the ground as his legs and back stiffened. The glistening black fur on his back was now on end as his lips shot upward wrinkling his snout into a dangerously threatening smile. The kindness in his glassy yellow eyes was now replaced with flickering ferocity, determined. His fangs flashed by, kicking up clods of dirt as he darted through the wheat. I called out to him. He gained speed as he ran faster and faster. It seemed as though his strides did not match his unprecedented speed. As I examined his agile movements I could see that he had only one destination in mind: the garden. I began to fade from consciousness, slipping into twilight as he leaped across the fence, mauling Adrian to the ground. As the blackness seized me, I could hear a faint wail of horror in the distance.

My eyes shot open, wide and shifting. I saw that the blood had ceased to bellow forth from my neck. The burning had stopped. I traced the wound with my index finger - still there. There was no pain, only deep sunken crescent moons as evidence of Vlad's deed. I gasped, not accustomed to open wounds without blood. And to my surprise, I wasn't cold. I was _comfortable_. It was a peculiar feeling when sitting in the snow. It was then that I slowly began to reason in my head what happened after the house, my sister, the fire, and… _him_. My eyes flicked back, and then forth, all around in search of any clues to unfold.

All was tranquil and all was motionless. Silent.

Time seemed to have… stopped. The snow did not fall. It hung in the air as if the stars had come down from their celestial homes for an unexpected visitation. The forces that had stopped time had done so to Gideon as well; his mane was mid-motion. He looked frightened. His liquid black eyes shimmered in the moonlight. The trees did not dance, the wind did not breathe, and the earth did not tremble. I had stepped out of reality and into a parallel plane of existence.

_If I am dreaming, God spare me…_

A child's voice came, soothing and calm.

"Emmeline," she summoned.

I sat up. I looked about for a moment, taking it all in - the stillness. I wasn't sure if I were dreaming, or worse, dead. I did not see anyone.

"Hello? Who's there?" I queried to the unsettling darkness. My eyes searched my surroundings once more, mystified. Curiosity and fear began to fill my mind, and with it, a flood of recent memories: the forest, introducing him to my family, riding Gideon, him murdering my family. I questioned my sanity in light of resent of events. But more importantly, was I safe from Vlad?

The soothing voice of a child came once more, "Emmeline, fear not. Be calm young one."

My hands were shivering like the final leaf on a deciduous in the autumn wind. "What is happening?" I queried once more, trembling with fear and confusion. I felt as if there were a fist-sized stone lodged in my throat. I could hardly breathe. Before I could collect my emotions and sort them accordingly, I turned to the emotion that usually followed fright: anger. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

It was then that a young girl appeared from behind Gideon. She stepped underneath his massive neck and parted the curtain of mane as she came forth. She kept a good couple meters from me, an appropriate precaution to take when approaching someone who appears to be going mad.

She wore a smock that was faded and dirtied: peasant rags. It had a fraying skirt and cuffs. Her skin was pale, though through the dirt that painted her skin it was difficult to ascertain. Wrapped around her hands were pieces of cloth. Her unevenly cropped hair was a mess – matted and grease ridden. Her feet were bare and sank deep into the snow – nearly to her knees. The cold did not seem to affect her. Her nose and skin were not rouged and she did not shiver. Her eyes were such a deep dark brown that they could've been mistaken for black. Her voice was pleasant to my ears and eased my mind as she spoke.

"Emmeline, please. Do not fear me," she assured me, smiling, imbuing her meaningful words into my heart.

"I am not afraid. I do not fear children." I replied fist still in my throat, "Who are you?" I choked out the last few words.

"I am a messenger." She stated it so matter-of-factly as though I should have heard of her before; like she was the King of England himself.

"Who uses children as mere pigeons? From whom do you bring a message?"

Her eyes flickered with rekindled excitement at my words. She permitted herself a step forward.

"I come with a message that _He_ cannot convey directly." She gestured up to the sky looking up to adore it in all its beauty. I mimicked this as she spoke. "It is not His will that this should happen to you."

"Who is '_He_'?" I echoed, getting my bearings, "Do you mean to say that you are a messenger of-"

"God? Yes. The creator of all things; mankind, earth and sky. It is God whom I represent and it is He that is at fault for what you are to become. I come with tidings of joy... and despair. I believe you have the right to know what you are to become and it would not have been long until you learned - the hard way. Do forgive me for the slowing of time around you. It eases the mind a bit."

_Indeed! This isn't disturbing imagery…_

She spoke nonsense. I shook my head in disbelief and tried desperately; clawing through what little sanity I had left for some way to reason what was happening.

"You... a messenger of God? Do you mean to make a fool of me child? Because it shan't be so."

"No, Emmeline," she replied calmly, drily.

It was then that I turned back to the familiar emotion from before. The calmness of her voice, once soothing and serene, began to vex me and my equanimity turned to frustration once again.

"How is it that you know my name? Who are you?" I demanded.

"I've known you since before you were born, Emmeline. I've seen you in soul before it were bound in flesh. I am the Archangel Gabriel, the Messenger of God."

I couldn't believe anything this child spoke. Her twisted words had broadsided me. It was as if she were trying to swindle me on my knowledge of faith. Though I wasn't particularly religious, I was far from infancy.

"You speak falses, young one. Mind your blasphemous tongue," I snarled

"I speak free of blasphemy, child," she hissed with impatient eyes, "It is you who lacks belief in me."

"I find it hard to accept the truth from you. And do not call me 'child'." I growled.

The child who called herself Gabriel then spun around and walked toward Gideon.

"It has always amused me how after thousands of years, witnessing God's power, humanity still continues to deny His existence. He displays His power for you firsthand and still you lack belief." The statement was riddled with disgust. "After God parted the Red Sea, the Hebrews still did not believe in Him and found that worshipping gilded cattle would be decidedly better. Ignorance..." The girl was rather impertinent for a child her age. This disturbed me.

"What power have you shown me to suggest that you are _of God_, child?"

It was then that she revealed her true self. She closed her eyes held her arms out to here sides, palms up, as if she were worshiping to the Heavens. The wrappings on her hands began to unravel themselves slowly, swooping out and around into long wild ribbons. The wrappings flowed like silk in the wind as they began to surround her and spiral upward as if they were wrapping around an invisible shell. Her eyes screamed open, giving way to the blazing blue light that flashed forth.

She gasped.

In a blink she burst outward into millions of snowflakes. They swirled and whipped, spinning faster and faster into a whirlwind of snow and bright light. The light showed too bright to look upon. Even in squinting I was blinded. Snow swirled in and out of the light that had replaced the girl, creating the figure she truly was. By the clap of a thunderous sound, the light faded to a glimmer, then burned out. The snow began to settle.

There she stood, with long lush beams of spectral light - hewed in blue - that sprouted from her shoulder blades. They waved slowly behind her like dozens of silk ribbons and scarves under water. She was a woman in every sense of the word. Her faultless frame displayed a myriad of perfected features. Her hair was golden spun threads; short in style and wavy. Her well-featured eyebrows sat above her sensually curved eye lashes. Her passionate light purple eyes churned like liquid, the irises ringed in thin lines of black. Her fair, smooth skin blanketed her flawlessly structured nose, cheekbones, and jaw line. It glowed like white fire as small spectral flares steamed off of her exposed skin, foiling the surrounding darkness. Her endlessly remarkable curves only heightened the intensity of her beauty when combined with her gorgeous, hearty lips and ample bosoms. Needless to say, I was humbled.

She wore a russet colored silken hooded cloak which clung well to all of her curves – the hood was down. Beneath the cloak she wore a white silk kimono that fell just to her ankles. Her bare feet, while deep in the snow, made it glow a beautiful white light like a lantern just beneath the surface. While I'd stopped to account for the unprecedented elegance and beauty of the fair Archangel, I'd not realized the blazing, upset purple eyes that were fixated upon me.

"Look around!" her expression and posture was dark, commanding. "Do you not see that I've slowed time to a near halt so that I may speak with you, _human_?" she emphasized the word to impress that there _was_ an echelon. "Mind your surroundings and manners before letting loose a flippant tongue, whelp!" she shrieked.

I was absolutely terrified. She was correct; that was an exceptionally great feat. It hadn't crossed my mind that she was the reason for the slowing of time. Yes, she said it was her doing, but she _was_ a child when she said it after all. This night became more and more complicated as it dragged on. From then on, anything goes.

"I, I do suppose th, th, that's true…" I squeaked, trembling, "I thought the Archangel Gabriel was a man...? Is this your true form?" I stood baffled. All accounts I'd heard or read of Gabriel told that she was a man. I bowed low, forehead press to my knees with outstretched arms. "Forgive _me_, milady, for I'd mistaken you for… a dream" I begged.

She lifted an eyebrow, examining my expression. After a moment, she relaxed, realizing that she'd been harsher that she'd meant to. "Do excuse my savage behavior, Emmeline dear, as time has passed I have grown less… _patient_ with your kind. I forget that it is not your error for mistaking my image, but the scribes before you," she tried sounding genuine, but it wasn't hard to see she was not. I looked up at her, pained by her faultless beauty once more.

"In my purest form I am merely an entity. I can take the form of whatever I wish: man, woman, or child; though I prefer to be perceived as a woman." She seemed to take great delight in the thought as she threw back her cloak, folding it back over her shoulders to reveal the full white kimono and the beautiful body it wrapped around. "I find their delicate body and nature to be one of God's most excellent creations. I came to you as a child because most people seem calmer and gentler toward children." She sighed and then approached me, her lips curved into a brilliant smile. "But seeing how you haven't the simple faith enough to believe that I speak only truths, I've come to you in a more… florid form. You might say _this_ is my 'true' form."

She extended her smooth and elegant hand toward me. I took it, and she heaved me to my feet. Her hand was warm. I broke out in goose bumps at her touch. Nodding I replied, "Excuse my doubts, and unnecessary petulance, milady."

"Like _Him_, I am also known for my forgiving nature." She smiled again, her eyes straying farther from frustration and closer to friendliness. I looked at her for a brief moment in awe of her beauty – her aura.

"You said before that I am to become something…" I recalled. "What am I to become?"

She straightened up as if she were addressing me formally… her friendliness lingering in the midst of her voice, not her posture. "I come to you now to inform you of the growing curse that now courses through your veins. Moments from now you will cease to be the woman you are and become something that is… an oddity of nature. A creature bound to the night and shunned by the dawn. Never again shall you see nor touch sunlight, Emmeline, for fear of death. You shall lust for blood as a caged dog for scraps. Hence forth, you shall be a Vampire, forevermore until death part you."

I fought the rising nausea at the thought of the word, "Vampire?" She nodded, slowly as if ashamed. _Was this a dream yet?_ Vampires were myth, folklore. Not night stalking demons of beauty and deception… It was all too much to bear in one moment. Blood drained from my head in two seconds flat as I stumbled, dizzy with disbelief. She took my shoulders as I began to topple, steadying me as my mind connected with my legs. I looked at her, worried at the realization of what being a Vampire implicated. "I've not heard but folk tales of such creatures, milady… and none were pleasant ones."

"That is because there are no pleasant tales to tell," she seemed troubled by that fact, "Most Vampires are just as you've heard of them in your folk tales, ravenous, savage beasts. Know now that when you turn, there is nothing you can do to untie the threads that bind, Emmeline. When you are a Vampire, you are f—" She stopped, beating back the disturbing thoughts in her mind. "Forsaken by God," she continued.

Her eyes turned apathetic, probably in response to my expression. In an instant warmth exited my body, I felt deceived, empty. Though I had never put stock in faith and religion before, somehow now… I yearned for it. I deserved a second chance; _anything_ but this. It was far from fair, it was criminal. It was _my_ soul and I am the one responsible for damning it, _not_ _Him_! My eyes began to glisten as she spoke, softer and more compassionate then before. "This is not your fault; it is a curse that has passed on to you. He loves you Emmeline…" she took my hand, stroking it gently, "you just aren't welcome into his kingdom when trumpets sound on judgment day."

I couldn't resist it any longer. I collapsed, falling into her loving embrace and resting my weary head upon her bosom. The soft silken kimono, sodden with tears, comforted me as I unleashed all my sadness, my sorrows, my anguish. My family was murdered. A man I trusted betrayed me. My childhood burned to the ground. In that moment I did not curse nor did I make any accusations toward God. The most devastating thing, however, was one solid certainty: it was entirely my fault. Had I not let my foolishness cloud my judgment and let him shiver to death out in the cold I would still have a family, a home… a soul. I sniffled, wiping away a few tears that were soon replaced by the next batch. I gasped, steadying my breathing, and ran my fingers through my hair to tuck it behind my ear. I didn't bother to interrupt my lamentations, keeping my cheek pressed to her bosom.

"It's my soul, Gabriel…" I wiped away a tear, "I'll take that over His love in an instant." It all just didn't add up. How could the God my family and friends had worshiped since I could remember be so cruel? Forsaken? Despite the fact that I was an atheist, I hadn't been _un_christian in any way toward anyone my entire life. God was an invariable constant in my family's life and I respected that, but never once did I preach against Him or His teachings. Was that all it took to condemn me?

"Why am I to be forsaken, Gabriel? Why?" I ruminated, defeated. This night had only gotten worse the more it dragged on and I was tired. I wanted to give up. Crawl inside a cave and hug my knees until the pain went away. But this wasn't a dream, it was reality, and I didn't have that luxury.

"Years ago, the man you know as Vlad sold his soul to Lucifer in trade for everlasting life. Though for his wickedness in life, God laid upon him a curse to counter Lucifer's evil deed. The curse, it seems, is passed down to whoever he has bitten."

Embarrassment blushed my face, recalling how lucky I'd felt to find a man so perfect. Trim, handsome, wealthy, _prince_! I should have known better than to assume my life ever be showered with pleasantries.

"Unfortunately, my child, you happen to be one of many who've fallen subject to God's slight accident."

I found it hard to digest the idea that _He_ would've made a mistake. I looked at her with disbelief as her words crept toward the front of my mind. He never makes mistakes. How could He? He's all-powerful, all-seeing, and more importantly, all-knowing. Or so I thought. And of all the men I could have plucked from the peacock of husbandry and prospect, I chose the one who just happened to be a Vampire…

"Yes, even _He_ has been known to make mistakes..." She paused for a brief moment, collecting her thoughts. "If the evil of Lucifer is transferred to another, God's curse must follow to maintain the balance between good and evil. Like it or not young one, you are now a part of the greatest war ever to be waged: the war between good and evil itself."

All at once, it hit me. In the course of a December night I had lost everything that made me what I was... human. Lore states that when someone is bitten by a Vampire, they die, and are reborn as one. This is metaphorically true; we do die... We die mentally and emotionally; becoming detached from our former selves. When someone loses all sense of identity, seldom do they find their niche in life again. There is little left that remains.

"What good tidings have you? You said before that you come with tidings of 'joy', but I've yet to hear such melodies." I asked; my tears finally subsiding.

"There is a way for you to regain God's favor."

_If there be hope in this dark hour, let me strive for such a virtue._

I looked up to her, my face blushing from tears.

"What must I do?"

"Believe in Him, Emmeline, and be willing to sacrifice yourself for the greater good." She smiled, quelling my anguish ridden heart.

"Is that all He requires?"

"No, above all you must have faith." She said. "For without faith in our father, how are we to get through the toughest of times?"

Tears began to creep up on me again, but Gabriel wouldn't have it. She approached me and knelt down. She wiped the tears from my face, her hands soft and warm against the winter night.

"Emmeline, God isn't a make-believe character for people to feel comforted in their times of need. He exists; and no matter what you may think now, he still loves you. You and others like you more than any others. Keep your faith in Him when the world seems to be crumbling down around you. Give yourself to Him when He gives you nothing, and I promise you, you shall be rewarded."

I looked up to meet her eyes. Her fetching, purple eyes. Even though she had given me the worst news imaginable, her eyes filled me with hope.

"I shall try..."

"There's a good lass..." she grinned, lovingly scraping the bottom of my chin with

her index finger. Rearing her head back, she closed her eyes, as if someone were whispering into her ear. She listened carefully for a moment. "I'm sorry Emmeline, but I cannot hold back the sands of time any longer." She broke away from me, taking a couple paces back. She turned to face me, drawing a deep breath.

"I must leave you now and return the world to its usual state. I wish you the best in your travels - in your life."

"Will we meet again?" I questioned.

"I'm sure there'll be another time child, another time."

"Until then?"

"Until then," she echoed, an impish smile cross her face.

She reared her head once more, and letting her long spectral 'wings' swoop forward and wrap her in ribbons of light. She grew brighter - rivaling the sun - dissolving into several small streams of snow that slowly swirled. The swirls began to circle each other; faster and faster they went, blurring anything in near sight. The snow turned to light and then burst so bright that I could no longer see. The burst exploded outward, imploded with thunderous vibrancy, and then back out again returning time to its original setting.

Gideon, still startled, reared and jerked thumping the ground with fearful excitement. Blood began to run down my neck again, followed closely by the searing pain that pulsated from the wound. Jonathan had heard my screams and came out to me. He yelled to Mary, to fetch some blankets. I began to fade back; my consciousness was slipping from me once more as I slowly faded into the familiar darkness.

57


	5. 5 Nightingale

5. NIGHTINGALE

I awoke slowly to the sounds of whispers and creaking steps. Mary and Jonathan were in the next room, discussing something undecipherable. I was completely exhausted, depleted of any will to move. I had an intense headache spiking from the top of my head to the nape of my neck. Everything seemed different. I knew exactly where I was, and I recalled all prior events, but my surroundings still seemed… different. I felt a little edgy. I looked down and saw that Mary had wrapped my neck with spare cloth, a tight dressing for the wound, but loose enough for me to breathe. Across the room, Father's coat and my blood-stained dress sat upon Jonathan's chair. I lay on the very bed that I'd laid in several hours ago with Mary, beneath the massive heap of quilts and blankets. I turned my head and stared into the flickering candles on the nightstand. I was reminded of home.

My lamentations were interrupted by the cracking swing of the wooden door. I gasped. I hadn't noticed the hushed voices from the other room had stopped. Mary slid her head through the crack in the doorway to check on me. She wrinkled her nose, embarrassed.

"Sorry," she winced, cursing the door and her lack of stealth. "…didn't mean to wake you." I smiled, adoring her knack for clumsiness.

"That's quite alright… I was awake."

She then screeched the door open and shut and walked to the bedside. She was wrapped in Mother's quilt. Sitting down next to me, she scrutinized my pathetic, wound-ridden body. I could see her eyes were brimming with an endless tide of questions… none of which I could ever answer truthfully – save one. She opened her mouth to ask something - probably concerning my wounds and my unexpected visit at this late hour, but thought better of it. Instead, she took the beaten path when addressing someone in my current state.

"Hey, Emma… How are you feeling, sweetie?"

This situation seemed painfully familiar. The unyielding headache that spiked through my head flared. I twitched in unbearable agony for a brief moment, gasping, breathing hard and coarse. My tightly pressed eye lids suppressed a scream. Mary straightened up; worry filling her forest-green eyes and quivering lips.

"I'm fine," I lied. Using what little muscle strength I had, I tried to sit up. Holding my breath, arms shaking underneath my weight, I fell back… defeated.

"What did this to you?" she asked, her fearful expression wishing she'd not asked at all. I had hoped she wouldn't ask until much later, I hadn't prepared anything to say. _Why did it have to be now?_ Being in and out of consciousness was disorienting enough without having to deal with murders, Vampires, and Angels fogging up my memories.

"Where's Gideon?" I tried desperately to change the subject. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to think. I wanted my cave. I wanted my cave so that I could pull my knees to my chin and wither away in dark singularity. But of course, Mary, being the good friend she was, would have nothing of it.

"Jonathan is putting him out back in our stables." Her words reverberated off the inner walls of my aching skull. I winced at the sound of her voice. Taking notice, she spoke softer, in hushed tone. "Emmeline, what happened to you?" she pleaded. Her eyes were still brimming with questions. I began to wonder when they were all going to come spilling out. I couldn't stand being accosted once more tonight, so I pieced my mind together for a short and concise answer before she could ask.

"There was fire," I murmured, my voice coarse with sleep, "and Vlad and... Adrian. Father struck him with the axe. Mother- I don't know where she is. Where is she, Mary? Gideon… Long road here..." It wasn't as comprehendible as I'd hoped, but it was short and concise. I watched as her eyes try to paint my story with the colors I'd given her, however, when using black, you're still in the dark. She tilted her head, her eyebrows tugged together in bewilderment.

"Fire? Emmeline, dear, you're not making any sense," she admitted. "Perhaps you're in need of some more rest…" I shook my head slowly, careful not to make the pain rekindle again.

"Please, Mary. Take your bed. You're ill," I blurted. It was always in her nature to be severely hospitable. With me it was genuine, loving. Her mother-in-law was an entirely different story.

"Jonathan and I will be in the next room if you need us." She tucked a few stray strands of her gorgeous reddish-blonde hair behind her ear, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. This signified that the gavel had been pounded. Before she was out the door, she looked back, her eyes dripping with maternal nurturing. "Tomorrow morning we will have this all sorted. We'll have Mrs. Ashford down tomorrow to address your wound more properly." I lifted my head, immediately aware of her plans.

"Mary…?" I croaked. She stopped, tentative and waiting.

I knew that she could never possibly understand the truth. So admitting to my transition to Vampirism was out of the equation. I scrounged through the latest catalog of memories for anything that I could tell her; something true and relevant, but not in any way _revealing_. I knew that there was no stopping Mrs. Ashford's visit; she was the local medicine woman and a person who lacked all signs of jubilance. There would be no talking Mary out of it. She sighed, losing her patience and interest. I had to say something – anything.

"Keep the shades drawn tomorrow. I don't want the sun to wake me."

"I will. You need the rest," she agreed. One of the greater aspects of my friendship with Mary: she will do anything for me without question. She exited and my head collapsed onto the pillow. Staring up to the ceiling, I wondered if my headache would ever subside, praying to God that He delay the dawn for as long as possible.

I didn't dream that night. I slipped into complete hibernation relaxing my mind and body. I felt nothing as the hours floated by. When I finally did awaken, my headache had vanished in my sleep. My slumber had also abated the stinging agony that pulsed from my neck. I double-checked, lightly pressing around on the bandages to see if I felt anything. It really _was_ gone. I was stricken with unbridled happiness, insouciant.

My hair appeared to be more vibrant, perfect, as though I'd stroked it a hundred times with a brush. Its near-black color shined vivaciously in the dim, yet sensual candlelight as I sat up. This was more than astonishing for my hair. It was unheard of – unnatural. It was usually a shamble when I woke up. I caught a bundle of it and twirled it around in my fingers.

I drew back my legs to a cross, noticing my fair skin had lost its previous coarse dullness. It was smoother and soft as silk, lusciously bedazzling. I was overcome with amazement, mouth agape. _What happened during my dormancy that had molded my hair and skin into that of a goddess?_ My pondering was interrupted by the heavy thudding of the oaken front door.

I listened carefully to the footsteps, – light and dainty – it was Mary. I heard her take a few paces toward the fireplace. There was then a muffled clattering of wood bouncing on the floor.

"BALLOCKS!" she shrilled. I couldn't help but giggle. It was too priceless not to. I heard her sort the wood, maybe tossing a few into the fireplace, and then approach the door to the bedroom.

The door swung open just enough for her to pop her head in. Mary's hair was in complete disarray, her expression vacant.

"I hope I didn't wake you?" she said drily. "May I come in?"

"Please do," I invited.

She entered, combing her hair back with her fingers. Mary, no matter how dirty, tangled, or mangled her hair was, could always pull-off beautiful. She was naturally exquisite; an Irish woman who was never mistaken for anything less. Needless to say, when accounting for our friendship, I was glad that we'd met so young, before our looks became our more prominent features. I was attractive, but not nearly as much as she, when our ample bosoms and inviting curves befell us. Had we met later in life, I'd speculate that we'd have despised each other silently on the basis of trivial feminine competition. So I was surprised to meet the shocked, soot-covered face of my best friend as she peered deep into my eyes. I was taken aback when her stare grew from an instant into a moment. She just sat silently, jaw down, eyes twinkling.

"Emmeline Hildegard Morgan…" She spoke clearly, emphasizing each of my names with precise diction and a peculiar grin on her face.

"Yes…?" I asked. My shoulders stiffened.

"You look… You look…" her voice quivered.

"Yes?"

"You look unspeakably beautiful, dear," she said breathlessly. I'd never heard Mary compliment me in such a way. It was as purely genuine as her hospitality. I drew a few short and astonished gasps in the wake of her kind words.

"Thank you," was all I could think to say.

"You're most certainly welcome. _Look_ at you! You look lovely, darling!" I smiled, touched by her sentimental approval. It wasn't until then that I began to place pieces together… this wasn't any ordinary awakening. There was a more powerful force involved in my fairytale appearance today. _Could this be one of the affects of Vampirism? Beauty? If this be a curse, let it seize my body! I surrender it willingly!_

"I feel well today. Perhaps I won't need Mrs. Ashford after all." I commented, more _chalant_ than non. "My neck feels much better."

"Don't think for an instant that I'd let that slide by, missy," she said, not an ounce of leniency in her words. "Jonathan's out to fetch her," then her expression went dark. "…and the constable of the Van Durham Estate."

"What need have we for a constable?" I queried.

"Someone to look into the matter of your… attack."

I sat in misery at the word. It flooded my mind with the excruciating amount of loss I'd suffered last night. I took account once more of each event, piecing them sequence by sequence, thinking on how the night grew exponentially worse. My newfound beauty was delightful, but not worth my soul. I refrained from despising it, looking through a glass half full.

"I suppose…" I agreed. She shook her head, her eyes giving away the uneasiness in her heart. I thought it best to lead the conversation down a different alley…

"What time is it?" I wrapped my illustrious hair around my fingers once again.

"It's nearly dusk," she answered.

"Have I slept for _that_ long?"

"We thought you'd never wake," she said wearily. Rolling loudly off her palette, she produced a frightening cough. I was instantly afflicted with guilt, I may have exacerbated her illness. "Come, come," I beseeched. Mary plopped herself onto the bed, taking her place next to me beneath the blankets. The muffled sounds of the massive oaken door cracking open came again, followed by heavy footsteps: Jonathan was home.

"What happened to you last night, Emma?"

"Later…"

She nodded. Jonathan entered; he wore a thick robe and the usual tunic. His boots were dampened by the relentless snow. He shook a few small clusters of flakes from his hair and scratched his head. "Emma! Good to see yer' awake," he commented. We exchanged quick smiles of acknowledgement. It wasn't until Mary shot Jonathan her signature evil glance that I noticed he was ogling. I thought it was more surprising than anything else; I was plain compared to Mary under _normal_ circumstances. It felt nice to be noticed, though I did my best to bury such feelings when Mary looked back at me. Mind you, it wasn't that I was interested in Jonathan, just merely amused by him.

"Where's Mrs. Ashford?" Mary crowed. Her eyes were colder than her words. My shoulders stiffened at the sound of her name.

"Out o' town I'm afraid," he answered. I could see that he felt foolish, and being caught didn't help things. "Won't be back for a week."

My shoulders immediately loosened up. I drew in a long and refreshing breath only to release a sigh of relief.

"And what of the constable?" she asked.

"Tying up his horse in the stable. I told him I would come let ye' both know we was here and that I'd be right back. So…" Before he could embarrass himself in front of his wife any further, he scurried out the door. We sat in an awkward silence, both of us knowing what turned Jonathan so bashful and foolish. We were women, intelligent and logical, but most of all: cunning. The number one rule of our friendship was: don't turn the rock if you don't want the worms...

Jonathan and the constable arrived later than sooner, thankfully dissolving the growing tension between Mary and I before either of us could say anything detrimental. They trudged through the bedroom door, stomping the snow from their boots. _Men… Did the front door not suffice?_ Perhaps it was Jonathan's way of putting on a good show for the constable. He was otherwise a very courteous and mindful man; however, in the presence of a law man, I believe he felt it was his duty to flex his masculinity. The constable looked down to me, staring at first. He soon realized he had been caught when I broke into a petite smirk.

He wore a cape, and beneath it a long vest dyed the colors of the Van Durham estate - a daunting dark red and white. I shuddered, feeling a bit queasy at the sight of such a deep shade of red. Upon the right breast of his vest was the Van Durham emblem: a small white cross set just above two white scythe blades. He must have set the standards for brawny, towering a foot taller than Jonathan, and broader. He was thick with muscle and though he wore a cape, it only magnified his brawn. It was like bundles of twisted strands of rope, wrapped tightly beneath his muslin peasant shirt. His blonde, shoulder-length, thin hair was straight as a rapier. His eyes were a glistening blue; they were reassuring and soul-wrenching all at once. Tan skin was set beneath a scraggly beard that fell two finger widths from his chin. Mary and I shot up straight – shoulders back, chin up, chest out - when he entered, hoping to impress him with our knowledge of feminine standards and customs.

"Which of the two of you is Emmeline Morgan?"

"I, sir." I answered, nodding respectfully.

My heart began to chirp with that of a hundred crickets, erratic, and without reason. Nonsense, there _was_ a reason: him. I hadn't prepared an excuse yet and in the blizzard of thoughts that raced through my mind, none of them made sense. Mary saw me tensing up, a particular sort of tension only my best friend could notice. She squeezed my hand beneath the blankets and simultaneously my shoulders fell.

"I am Constable Adler. Rupert Adler," he said softly.

"Emmeline… Morgan," I forfeited.

He then went to the chair, which still had upon it Father's coat and my dress – both blood-soaked. He scraped the chair across the room to the bedside and turned it meticulously until it was angled perfectly toward me. He then discarded the coat and dress onto the bed, swooshed around and sat, tossing his cape back. Rather than the expected thud, he sat down quiet as a graveyard.

"Now, this is simple - nothing to get excited over – just tell me what happened last night. Anything you can remember. The more I know, the more I can help." He sat very relaxed, confident, with one leg crossed over the other. His calm demeanor rubbed off on me as I looked into his eyes, thinking about what to say. _The truth? A lie? Perhaps a hybrid of the two would be best._

"Well, give me a moment… Let me think…" I pondered, still a bit groggy from sleep.

"By all means, Miss Morgan, take your time," he assured. Beneath his beard and bushy brows, it was difficult to tell whether he'd meant it or not. Nevertheless, he remained patient, and eager to hear what I'd have to say.

"Last night, I'd come to Mary's house to cheer her up. As you can tell, she's a bit ill. It was mid-afternoon. Afterward, I took the trail back down to my house."

"Was it dark out?" he questioned. My thoughts fumbled at the feet of his interruption. "Pardon me, Miss, I only wish to be _thorough_ is all." I smirked and nodded, and then continued.

"It was _getting_ dark… dusk. It wasn't until I was halfway to my house that it was completely dark. It was then, on the trail that I met a man." - I winced - "He had lost his horse and needed a place to keep warm for the night, so I invited him to stay with us."

"I see…" this seemed to excite his eyes, but not the rest of his face.

"He was a smidge shorter than you, dark brown wavy hair and green eyes. His clothing was all black from collar to boot. And he had an average build, yet he had well-tone muscle." The last part I could have done without, but he wanted 'thorough'. I reflected on how beautiful Vlad was. Apart from being a mass murderer and a blood-lusting Vampire, he was perfect – in body that is. I made sure as to not mention he was a Prince. If I did, the issue would have been thrown out altogether. Everyone knew that if you were to accuse royalty of any ill-dealings you may as well be tying the noose yourself.

"Hm. Then what happened?"

"He walked me home and my father invited him to stay the night with us. We made up his room and he went directly to bed," I paused remembering the kiss he'd given me; that passionate, heart-seizing kiss that had filled me with juvenile love. And then I paused, swallowing a fist-sized knot in my throat, unwilling to face the events that followed. "Then I took my horse out riding, you know, to warm him. When I returned, my house was on fire, I assumed it was him."

"How so?"

"My mother, father, and sister were dead… lying next to the front door." I did my best to dam the flood of tears within me. One escaped and then another and looking at Mary, I could tell that this was all too much. Her face was buried in her pale hands, her red hair spilling over them to mask whatever sadness could be seen. She whimpered as quietly as she possibly could. Jonathan didn't cry, though his eyes were deep and mournful. He tended to his wife, sitting beside her, comforting her with his warm embrace. My breathing stuttered as I forced my mouth to words.

"He stood over them wielding our wood spitting axe. When I tried to take it from him… he bit me." My stomach churned at the thought, the memory of pain, agony, and loss. Constable Adler took mental note of this.

"Then what?" he asked drily.

"A swatch of burning thatching fell and blinded him for a moment, giving me time to mount Gideon – my horse – and ride back up the road. I knew I'd be safe here. After that, things get a little… hazy. I fell unconscious after I'd arrived I believe." There was a long moment of silence; nearly _too_ long as I awaited his thoughts on my story. He just sat back, stroking his beard with his thick sausage fingers.

"Well," he mumbled, "sounds like you had an interesting night..."

"Indeed." I repositioned myself, sitting up straight.

"Indeed," he repeated.

"May I?" he asked softly. He gestured to my bandaged neck. I nodded and leaned in toward him, exposing it to as much candlelight as possible. He raised his massive log of an arm and carefully folded the bandage back. His eyes squinted, looking it over for a moment, and then he let me loose.

"Looks like he took quite the nibble there." He stroked his hair back, out of his face. He then sat back and crossed his legs again, this time folding his fingers into a bulky Venus flytrap. He allowed himself another moment to ponder the information. He then drew a deep breath (which was more than likely a normal one for a man his size) and let out a soft sigh.

"May we have a moment - alone?" He asked this of Mary and Jonathan. Both of them nodded. Jonathan scooped Mary off the bed, securing the blanket around her. He steadily walked her to the door, minding her weakened knees. Before exiting, she gave me the most disturbingly grieved frown I'd ever seen. Her forest greens looked as though they'd never known love or happiness. Jonathan looked at me with the indication that _it's alright, I'll take care of her_. And then we were alone. The silence of the room consumed us both as the sounds of footsteps trailed off. The constable started picking at a bit of lint on his cape, as he spoke.

"You are familiar with the nightingale, am I correct, Miss Morgan?" He didn't move, nor did he blink, awaiting my answer.

"Yes," was all I could answer. After all the questioning his final question would be one about birds… how odd. I searched for any rhyme or reason in his voice or question and found neither.

"The nightingale is a very singular, very special breed of bird, wouldn't you say?" He gave a tickled smile at the thought. He was leading me down a path I had not seen coming; but of course, I was willing to entertain him in this journey.

"I've always found them to be rather ordinary, myself," I admitted. His lips spilled out in mock pouting and his brows knitted together in playful disagreement.

"Oh! No, no, Miss Morgan. The nightingale is _far_ from ordinary. It is a most _extra_ordinary bird." His beard shimmered with the flickering candlelight, his delightful smile hadn't left his face. This eased my mind.

"How so, sir?"

"The nightingale is my favorite bird. Yes, I know, I may seem a little bias, _but_ who isn't for one reason or another." He let loose the manliest chortle I'd ever heard and it was only right that I echo it myself. _Was he a madman or was he a constable?_ It was difficult to say. "You see, the nightingale is set apart from any other bird. It is like the robin and the lark, but more extravagant then either. The robin is a very extroverted animal, very predictable. It will flute its call, from a tree, hoping to attract a mate. Sometimes it will call into the night, but _only_ during mating season. The nests they build can be found just about anywhere, very easy to spot." He took a brief moment, shifting his weight and scratching the bridge of his nose.

"Now, the lark - particularly the Skylark - is a very crafty sort in comparison. They will hover high in the sky, singing and chirping for a long while to attract a mate. From that height, it is granted a degree of privacy from all other animals. Likewise, their nests are devilishly hard to find, tucked away in discreet places." He cleared his throat, appraising my expression as the information began to sink in.

He pondered a moment. "The nightingale prefers a lark's discretion to sing its song under the blindfold of night; yet it wears the robin's feathers and will build its nest overtly where anyone can see. Now, what does this tell you, Miss Morgan?" Gazing into my eyes, he could tell I had no answer, but waited for one nonetheless.

"I'm not sure, sir." I shrugged, unaware.

"They can build the nest and wear the feathers, but during the night, why should they continue to sing? Because they're up to something. They're _always_ up to something. And no lark's discretion, nor a robin's extroversion, can mask that truth."

I froze. Stiff as cooled iron and motionless as a mountain.

He had seen through my loomed fabric of twisted truths, but how? The bite on my neck appeared to be human, so that wasn't it; and I couldn't have possibly inflicted it myself. Was it the story? It all made sense to me (lie or not), though I had experienced it firsthand. That could have had some bearing on whether I believed it or not… Perhaps it was that I'd managed to escape. As I fired through the possibilities in my head, I could recognize only one answer to put an end to his query. My face went serious as I leaned forward and lay my hand lightly upon his knee. This small gesture flustered him.

"Then I do hope you find this nightingale, Constable," I said flatly. "He murdered my family. Please, do not let his crime go unpunished."

He scrutinized my expression carefully. I looked on him with a genuinely grieved expression. I could see my pensive, sorrowful eyes begin to chip and melt away his glacial grimace as his face slowly fell flat and emotionless. It was the amalgamation of my slender fingers upon his quivering knee and my authenticated grief that quelled his skepticism. At that moment the headache returned, spiking through my skull like a jouster at a hard gallop. I instinctively jerked my head to the side, hissing on the brink of tears again. My hiss quickly crescendoed into a scream. The constable shot forward.

"Are you well?" he said, more gruffly than necessary. I didn't answer. I was concentrating far too heavily on the pain. I steadied my breathing and tried to cool my nerves. _In, out, in, out… It will pass, give it time._ After a moment it was gone, receding back into its lair waiting for the next strike. I hoped this was not the beginnings of a severe chronic ailment. Hasted shuffling and stumbling announced Jonathan and Mary's return when the door swung wide.

"Are you alright, Emmeline?" Jonathan demanded, his eyes blazing. He must have assumed the constable's need for privacy had led to sexual misdeeds. I shook my head and dismissed the notion with the wave of my hand. He relaxed and then looked to the constable, who simply shrugged.

"I'm fine," I lied. "It's just a head sore." The three of them stared, evaluating my condition carefully. Mary was concerned, as expected. Her eyes returned to instinctual maternity. Jonathan glanced over to the constable, contemplating whether or not he really _had_ been improper. He had been, in a sense, considering he'd assumed me a mischievous woman. I don't blame him one bit. He was only doing his duty; and men of duty rarely recognize truth from acquaintances. He cleared his throat and scratched his bristly beard.

"Well... I think the best place to start would be the house," sighed the Constable, putting an end to the awkward situation. He was a reader of people, and obviously Jonathan's immediate response to my scream had alerted the Constable to his assumptions. Though he was innocent, he appeared shameful. _Insight isn't always a gift you know. It oftentimes amplifies paranoia._

"I can take you there. It jus' be up the road a bit," Jonathan explained. He was more relaxed, focusing on helping me now. He looked to his wife and then to me. "Will the two of you keep things in order whilst we're gone?" He said sweetly. It sounded more demanding than I'm sure he'd meant it to be. His constant concern for our well-being was always a treat to hear.

"How long will you be?" Mary inquired.

"Not long," the Constable cut in. "I just need time to look it over... I hope to find very little." He slid a card across our bluffing table, it read: _Nightingale_. I riposted with _Oblivious_, and again, he was foiled by a woman half his age. Not to mention half his size. "Come," he announced, turning to Jonathan. "Let us not loiter any longer than necessary." And then they were out two doors and headed for the stables out back.

After a moment of silence, Mary and I went to the window next to the front door. The window was safe; it faced eastward. Sunlight lapped at the edges of the house's shadow, glistening in orange and purple. At the time I did not realize the seriousness in the act of walking to a lit window. I was young. Vampirism had enhanced and embellished my features, but had clearly neglected to endow me with forethought. Mary and I were wrapped in our own set of blankets. She laid her gentle hands upon my shoulders. Her unstable breathing revealed she was wallowing in grief over my family's departure. I took one of her hands and, nearly simultaneously, we tilted our heads together.

We brandished and polished our keen sword of friendship, comforting each other as we usually would. The two men trotted to the road. Jonathan waved with sweet affection, blowing Mary as kiss. Constable Adler raised two gloved fingers to give a lax solute. It was informal, lacking the proper rigidness it deserved. How disgraceful. Being the daughter of a former knight's squire, I was raised to respect the integrity of a solute. _Be it dignified, serve him wine. Be it worthless, he shan't dine._

Father's words echoed along the vacant caverns of my exhausted mind as I peered out the window. Constable Adler trotted closely behind Jonathan. Both their horses obviously disapproved of the trek, their dark eyes longing for the stables. In watching them ride away I knew there was no escaping it. Someone had to be punished. Someone had to be held responsible for my family's death… and who better to blame than the Nightingale?

6


End file.
